


Bad Touch

by thestarsjustblinkforus



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Origin Story, Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Gen, Romance, TW: past sexual abuse mentions (non-explicit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 08:26:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 61,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19058938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarsjustblinkforus/pseuds/thestarsjustblinkforus
Summary: A Rogue Origin Story"Her problems aren't necessarily with humanity anymore as much as they are with whatever God decided to make her skin toxic. She doesn't need to be on anyone's watch. She doesn't need to be saved. She has no intention of destroying the world or claiming it for others like her because no oneislike her..."





	1. Cody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:[ Things That Scare Me - Neko Case](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBLI9jq6tUY)_

He’s lying on something hard and unforgiving. 

Flat… and slightly… ridged? 

Or… or warped maybe. 

He cautiously feels around him with his palms, his fingers, and encounters an edge that’s alarmingly close. And then a splinter.

He winces and cautiously sits up, his head swimming a bit as his eyes begin to adjust to the darkness.

A small window with two bars forming a cross over it breaks up the murky stream of moonlight pouring in into four satisfyingly equal parts and he changes the pattern it leaves on the dusty ground beneath his feet as he swings his legs back and forth, his shadow blacking out the squares. 

He can see just fine now.

And it’s a long way down. 

If he had rolled off while he was sleeping, he could have broken something because he isn’t on a bench like he had thought. He’s on a ledge just big enough for one ten-year-old boy to fit comfortably with a stack of comic books and a flashlight. And he  _had_  rolled off once. Broken something. An arm. He hadn’t been able to play little league all summer.

He swings his legs once, twice, three more times, the musty smell of the place suddenly overwhelmingly familiar. 

Rain -  _swing_  - rust -  _swing_  - dust –  _swing -_

He knows where he is now. 

He’s in the shed behind the house. His old hiding place. He’s not supposed to play in here anymore though. Daddy keeps his tools in here now and he can see their sharp edges gleaming through the shadows below his feet. The skeletal wheels of Momma’s old bicycle hanging on the wall by little blocks of wood. That’s how he must’ve gotten up here, by using the blocks as foot and hand holds. At least that’s how he used to do it before Daddy stuck the ten-speed up there trying to keep him from camping out on the ledge.

He swings his legs one last time and lands with a soft thud and a cloud of dusty dirt, clearing the whole mess of junk beneath him he’s not allowed to touch.

It’s late. Way past dinner.

Momma and Daddy are probably worried sick and he’s gonna get a scolding for sure.

An owl hoots from the trees as he steps out into the backyard. The grass is high and it swipes against his bare legs tickling and scratching. He looks up at the house and all the lights are off.

_Weird…_

Even if Daddy had gone looking for him, Momma would have been sitting in the kitchen waiting to skin his hide when he finally came home.

He opens the front door and steps inside and the house is too still, everything is too still.

He nervously picks up the phone in the hallway and dials Granny Jane’s number holding his breath until she answers and says in a rush when she does, “GrannyJaned'yaknowwhereMommaandDaddyareahjustgothomean'noone'she-”

“Who is this?”

He takes a breath. He tries again.

“It’s me, Cody, d'ya kno-”

“Now listen, if this is yo’ idea of a joke it’s not funny!” Granny Jane’s kind voice is shaking with anger and she hangs up on him before he can say another word.

He’s about to dial again when he hears it - the _click, click, clicking_ of claws on linoleum.

The house has never felt so big and scary and unfamiliar, but Duke is here and that makes him feel a little better. He hangs up the phone, relieved he’s not alone anymore as the Great Dane pokes his head out of the kitchen.

“Hey, Duke, where is ever'body?”

Duke stares at him as he slowly slinks out into the hallway, head low, tail not waving all crazy like it usually does. It’s straight back, taut enough to rest a plate on, his ears down flat on his head.

"Duke?" 

Duke’s lips skim back over his teeth. They glint in the darkness like the sharpest tools in the shed as a low growl crawls up from his belly. 

"Boy?” he whispers and his dog lurches at him, the growl bursting into a snarling bark. The impact of Duke’s body barreling into his sends him flying against the stairs where he cracks his head against the railing and a black wave splashes across his vision. He blindly flings his hands up in front of his face trying to protect himself as the room spins and spins, and the teeth snap and scrape.

He claps his bloody hands around Duke’s muzzle desperately trying to hold his snarling mouth shut and a stinging suddenly shoots straight up his arms and explodes in his brain, a flash of light behind his eyes, a surging in his skull.

His back arches, his neck stiffens, his fingers claw, frozen in front of his face. 5 seconds go by, maybe 10, maybe 100 before he collapses in a boneless heap and slides down the stairs, down to where Duke is lying, down to where Duke is not breathing.

He scrambles whimpering up the steps to Momma and Daddy’s bedroom and crawls deep under the covers, rolling himself into a tight ball. He doesn’t know what else to do, where else to go. Granny Jane hung up on him. She’s _mad_ at him. Duke is dead and he’s all alone in his big scary house. He wants Momma. He wants Daddy. He wants this to _stopstopstopstopstop…_

He closes his eyes tight and starts counting to one hundred. His heart beats so hard it echoes in his ears and he gives each one a shaky number before falling asleep at ninety-six.

When he wakes it feels like hours have passed, but it is still dark, the house is still quiet. All there is is his shallow breathing and he listens to it as he stares up at the ceiling. The covers he had hidden under are now twisted around his legs pinning him down leaving him open to the air, exposed. A sob rises in his throat and he sits up, starting as he catches his reflection in the dresser mirror.

A girl stares back at him.

He knows her.

He remembers suddenly that’s where he was before he woke up in the shed. With her. At the tree by the river taking turns swinging on the rope. He remembers watching her white Sunday dress swirl around her tanned legs like melting whipped cream in a cup of hot chocolate. He remembers thinking she was as sweet as that easy despite the act she put on. He remembers telling her so and expecting to get his butt kicked.

He remembers kissing her to make sure the beating would be worth it.

And then…

And then there was the darkness of the shed he doesn’t remember going into. He untangles himself from the sheets, crawls to the edge of the bed and the girl crawls towards him too. He reaches out, traces her pale cheek, his fingers sliding along the cool glass. He touches his own face. She touches hers. He opens his mouth, says her name, and she does it too. He steps away from the mirror, and she echoes his movements. She looks confused, scared. She looks down at her ragged dress, dirty and torn and he feels it swish against his legs like streamers. He stares at his bare feet, clenches his fists in the skirt. His long hair brushes against his cheek, and it’s not blonde. It’s shoulder-length, matted and brown.

She looks at the room, at the rumpled bed, the ceiling fan turning a lazy circle, the dresser with bottles of flowery smelling lotions and perfumes, the brush with gold strands tangled in the bristles…

And she doesn’t… she doesn’t know…

How did she get here?

She leaves the bedroom, wanders down the hallway. She goes into the next room hoping to recognize something, hoping this is a place she should _be_.

Toy planes hang from the ceiling by strings. There’s a bookshelf with trophies and ribbons in blue and red and white. There are clothes on the floor, a book bag, a baseball mitt, comic books and markers.

This is a boy’s room. This isn’t her room.

This isn’t her house.

She’s not supposed to be here at all.

A car door slams outside.

She runs out into the hall and stops, her eyes catching on the portraits hanging on the wall. A family. Momma, Daddy, Baby. She watches the baby get bigger and bigger in the photographs until she recognizes him.

 _Cody_.

That boy from school who is always looking at her, always asking her questions, always following her around. She saw him today. They met up after church and went to the swimming hole. He-

The door downstairs opens. 

A gasp, a cry, _“Oh mah God!”_

She runs to the top of the stairs and there’s a woman at the bottom of them touching a dog that’s lying so still it must be dead.

“Hey!”

There’s a man there too and he’s staring at her. “Hey!” he says again. “Y’that girl, that girl mah boy ran off with… Whatcha doin’ here… What happened to ya… Ya  _bleedin_ ’ girl…" 

He comes up the stairs, his hands out and reaching for her and suddenly she remembers. She remembers Cody reaching for her. Cody pressing his lips against hers and the bad thing happening.

The man looks like him. Even in the darkness, she can see his sandy hair flopping over his forehead like Cody’s does, his wide blue eyes… 

His fingers brush against the tattered sleeve of her best dress and she remembers Cody did this too right before he kissed her, right before she- 

 _"Don’t touch me!”_  she screams and jerks herself away from Cody’s daddy because she thinks she killed the dog, she thinks she killed Cody, and she thinks she knows how she did it.


	2. Lifer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [ Small Blue Thing - Suzanne Vega](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7wDN_BJagdw)  
> [Mad World - Gary Jules](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N3N1MlvVc4)_

She's been here before and she knows how it works. Let the girls beat you up. Take it lying down so they don’t hit any harder. It's an initiation and she's been through it too many times to count and she knows enough now to keep herself rolled up tight with her head down and her hands clasped over it.

The girls always go for the hair.

The slapping and punching and scratching and kicking are bad enough but the hair pulling… Sometimes they don’t stop until they have too, until it comes off and they're left standing there holding a clump in their fists. 

The thing is though after you've been smacked down and ground into the linoleum, all is supposed to be cool. The girls never hurt you again. Any of the boys so much as look at you cross-eyed they rally together to kick his ass. It's never been like that with her. Because she never accepted their hands offering to help her get to her feet, never leaned on their shoulders on the way to the infirmary. Never accepted that she was "in" now, never wanted to be "cool" with the other girls, never wanted to be friends with the ones who had pounded her nearly unconscious. Maybe that's why they kept doing it. Maybe they hoped that she would finally give in, finally take their hand, weakly shake it, and then lay into the next new girl. She doesn’t know why she never did, why she insisted on spitting blood onto their shoes every time, telling them to fuck off when they tried to be _nice_ afterwards. Life at the orphanage would have been a lot easier all around. No more fighting, no more "welcome back" slugfests when she returned from yet another failed adoption. Maybe even a little protection from Bruce.

She got back too late for the girls to get her tonight. Everyone was already asleep when Mrs Foggerty led her to the girl’s wing, showed her to her bed as though she'd forgotten where it was. Four times gone, four times back again and they always put her in the same one. Ninth bed from the left right under the window. She hates that window. Sunlight in her face the second the sun comes up making it impossible to get a full night's rest unless she adopts the sleeping schedule of a five-year-old which is risky if everyone hates you.

She shifts uncomfortably in her bed, cringing at its familiar squeak and Deborah’s soft snoring in the one next to hers. They're familiar sounds, like the ones in the hallway. The footsteps trying to be quiet, the muffled jangling of keys, the wheezing breath of the asthmatic janitor who roams the halls at night and occasionally pays her a visit. He will tonight. She expects it like she expects a hand clamped over her mouth in the morning as they drag her off the bed and onto the floor. It's always the same, every time.

She's heard some of the other kids talking before, the ones who have been here for as long as they can remember, the ones who keep getting adopted only to be sent back for whatever reason. She's heard them say that it's almost comforting being back here. That they think of this place as their real home, the families they leave with just vacations that sometimes last a few years. Technically she's in that same group since she's been bounced around more times than a rubber ball, but she's never felt like that, never been relieved to be back or even disappointed really. She just went where they put her and tried her best not to get in the way. 

That had been one of the reasons why she had been sent back the first time. They’d said she wasn't opening up enough, that she was “too quiet”. The _There’s something wrong with this one_ implicit. The next couple tried to use her as a tourniquet for their haemorrhaging marriage then decided it wasn't working because she was too old. A baby was what they needed to bring them back together, not a five-year-old who was already a little off.

She's still a little bitter about that one. 

She had liked their cat. 

And then there was the couple who kept her for a year and then sent her back without any apparent reason. This third return to the orphanage was when the beatings started to move beyond the occasional push and scratch to full on attacks with fists and teeth. She was eight then and considered old enough to fight back. She did and lost a baby tooth prematurely as well as a handful of her hair. That’s the year she perfected the cannonball/fetal position. 

The Bennett’s adopted her three years later. She was with them for four and a half months before they had to send her back. She hadn't expected to stay long anyway, it was weird that they had even wanted her. Any kid older than five isn't likely to be noticed by wannabe parents who always scope out the babies first, but they came straight to her. She had been alone as usual reading a book about horses when Mrs. Bennett (“ _Call me Julia honey…”_ ) sat down beside her and started talking to her, asking what she was reading and did she like horses 'cause they had a horse and she could ride him whenever she pleased and wasn't her hair pretty and how old was she and did she like babies. Deborah had been eyeing her all the while. She had pissed her off that morning for some reason or another and rather than deal with the consequences she had looked into Julia Bennett's blue eyes and said _"This is Black Beauty, Ah've never seen a real horse 'fore so ah don’t know how to ride one but ah'd like to try someday an' thank you but ah think it's ugly an' ah'm ‘leven an' babies are okay most o' the time"._ It was the most she'd said to anyone her whole life and it seemed to do the trick.

The Bennett’s already had a little boy, but Jed was away on business a lot and Julia was a writer who needed time to herself. And she didn’t mind it, being the babysitter instead of the baby. She liked Julia. She liked her blue eye shadow and glossy lips that were always smiling and even Toby was okay. He didn’t cry as much as the babies at the orphanage. 

On her first day at her new school a boy teased her about her hair and she socked him. All the kids pretty much left her the hell alone after that except for one boy who was always looking at her funny, hanging around her in the playground, walking her home even after she told him to fuck off. She never even thought of him as her friend until he showed her his favorite place in the whole world. She'd rolled her eyes and said it was just a dumb old tree with a tire hanging off it but secretly she'd thought it was just about the coolest thing she had ever seen. It was right next to the river and you could swing that tire right over it if you wanted to and jump off. It was quiet and far away from everything and the grass seemed greener and softer and the sun warmer and brighter than it was anywhere else. It was perfect. She thanked Cody by letting him be her friend, by not telling him to fuck off anymore. By letting him kiss her.

She'd woken up hours later lying on top of him, her cheek against his cheek, not remembering falling asleep. Her only thought had been that she had to get back to the house because Jed had said she could go play as long as she was back in time for dinner. It had been dark and she had known she'd be in trouble so she told Cody she'd see him at school tomorrow, and when he ignored her, kept right on sleeping in that sweet greener-than-green-even-in-the-moonlight grass, she hadn’t tried to wake him. She wonders if things would have turned out different if she had. She wonders if he'd still be alive if only she'd gone to get help instead of going home which hadn't worked anyway. She'd gotten all confused, somehow ending up at his house. His momma and daddy had taken her home and were real careful around her, asking if she was okay, if she saw the person who had attacked her and Cody. They had no idea that she had been the one responsible, that she was the reason their son had slipped into a coma. 

She spent the next month in a kind of limbo herself, staring off into space for hours at a time, flipping out when anyone came near her. She'd sleepwalk and wake up at the river, and sometimes in Cody's bedroom. She'd talk to herself, have conversations where she answered for both sides. It freaked out the kids at school so she stopped going.

The Bennett’s decided to send her back after they found her in the kitchen this morning wrapping her arms and hands in plastic wrap. They told her, _"We care about ya honey but… sugah… we don’t know how to help ya… We don’t know what to do…"_ They told Mrs. Foggerty, _"She's been traumatized by the attack on her an' her friend an' she's developed deep psychological problems that we're not equipped financially or emotionally to deal with."_

Or something like that. 

So she's here again. And for the first time she isn't apathetic about it. She's glad. Toby will be safe. All the Bennett’s will be safe. Those girls though… Deborah… they're going to be in for a surprise tomorrow morning.

She looks at her hand painted blue by the moonlight spilling in from that damn window. It looks like anyone's hand. She curls it into a fist. Like Deborah's hand. But it’s not. It’s something else. Something dangerous.

The door to the girl's dormitory opens with a slow creak and that’s familiar too.

She watches him close it behind him, watches his hands groping the darkness, searching for the edge of the bed, searching for her. She knows what she's supposed to do, what she's done before, clamp her eyes shut, feel her body go rigid as the sheet slowly slides down down until it's replaced with Bruce's big callused hand cupping her ankle. He always starts with her ankle. And then his palm molds itself to her calf and then slides up up to her thigh. She's supposed to turn her head into the pillow then, feign sleep so she can pretend it's just another bad dream. She keeps her eyes open now. She stares at him and his hand hovering over her exposed flesh like a spider. She waits for him to call her  _darlin'_ , to say  _darlin' wake up_ , waits for his hand to slip under her nightgown, his splayed fingers over her belly reaching up up…

She's supposed to be thinking  _don’t touch me don’t touch me don’t touch me…_

He looks up at her and starts when he sees she's awake and watching him. He wheezes a _"Welcome home, darlin'"_ and his fingers spasm in anticipation of her skin. She smiles watching the twitching shadow on her foot. 

And she thinks, _Come and get it, sugah…_


	3. Deborah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [ Free - Cat Power](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGT5uXDTj8E)   
> [Crush with Eyeliner - REM](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XdOgotuap60)  
> [Black Dirt - Sea Wolf](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FrV2yqOpf64)_

"Why does it happen? Why does it always happen to  _you_?" 

She looks up from her book.  _Black Beauty_  again. She puts it down without saving her page. She knows what happens next. This is more interesting. 

Deborah.

Talking to her. 

Actually looking her in the eye for the first time since she woke up to find a dead janitor at the foot of her bed almost seven years ago. The grownups said he’d had a heart attack. The kids said he'd been "skunked". She's been left alone ever since.

She plays with a lock of her hair, twirls it around her finger looking right back and Deborah breaks away first to glare down at the book.

"That's baby readin'…"

She braids the white into the brown. "Then y'all do just fine with it. Unless a' course there's too many big words fo' ya, in which case th' new  _Highlights_  just came in."

"How  _come_?"

"'Cause they subscribe to it."

"Ah mean why's it _always you_?"

"...'Cause Ah can't be no one else...?"

Deborah's eyes flash, her lips puckering into a frustrated corkscrew. "Stop pissin' me off!"

She flips the braid over her shoulder, leans in close to Deborah until her big brown eyes widen with fear, and says calmly, "Ah haven' touched nobody since ol' Bruce, Debbie… That was a long time ago… Maybe y'all are forgettin' who ah am. Ya need me t'remind ya? Cause lord knows ah'd love ta…"

"Ah… just wanted ta know…"

"What?"

"Why they always pick ya! Ah've been here long as you easy an’ Ah've… Ah've neve' left. Ah wanna know why. Issit cause o' yo' magic?"

"Don’t be stupid, Ah ain't got no magic."

"Then how ya do it? How ya kill that sonofabitch and how ya get outta here?"

"Y’askin' the wrong questions. It ain't important  _how_  Ah did it, Ah just did it. Ya should be askin' me if Ah still can."

"Can ya?" 

She reaches for Deborah's face with a " _Lessee_ ," and the girl shrieks falling back into her chair and nearly tipping it over as the librarian shooshes them disinterestedly.

"An' ya shouldn' be askin' how come Ah got out, ya should be askin' how come Ah kept gettin' brought back."

"How come then?" she asks keeping her eyes on her hands. 

"Cause Ah ain't nothin' special. If Ah had me some magic dontcha think Ah'd a' done somethin' so someone'd keep me?"

"No, Ah don’t think you would.” Deborah squints at her. “Ah don’t think y'd care enough ta try. You a strange one skunk-head. Ya never cared 'bout bein' anywhere but where ya were cause ya thought there wasn' nuthin' y'could do about it anyway. Ya know what ah think? Ah think you're a lifer at heart, Ah think ya wanted to come back all those times. Ah think ya sabotaged yo'self cause y'know what y'gettin' here. Ain't no surprises, ain't nothin' to knock ya off y' high horse-"

"Why y'even talkin' to me?" she interrupts annoyed and surprised that Deborah has put any thought into her at all. 

"’Cuz someone come by today askin' fo' ya an Ah want ya ta try an get ‘er to take me too."

"Ah ain't goin' with Ms Darkhomes or whatever her name is."

"Why not?"

"Cause Ah'm gonna be eighteen in a month an Ah won’t need no guardian no more anyway."

"Ah'm gonna be eighteen too." 

She throws up her hands exasperated and smirks when Deborah flinches.

"Then why you complainin'? You be outta here soon. What ya want that lady fo' anyway? She was weird, kept starin' at me… She from The City, y'know? _New York._  Starin' at me like she never seen nothin' like me when Ah bet people don’t look twice at girls with two-color hair up there."

"She starin' at ya cause ever'one stares at ya." 

"They stare cause they afraid."

"They stare cause y' prettier than all th' pretty girls at school put t'gether. Don’t matter none 'bout yo' hair o' yo' reputation. No one really believes you a killer anyway."

"'Cept you."

"'Cept me 'cause Ah saw y' face that mornin'. An ah saw what ya did to Fogie's tabby."

She reaches for her book and opens it again pretending to read, done with this conversation. She hadn’t meant to kill Mrs Foggerty's cat. She had been here in the orphanage's library studying for an English test a few months ago and the cat had been there too lying on the table right in front of her. The thought had come over her so suddenly and so strongly,  _Ah have to touch him_. Maybe she had wanted to see if it was still in her, the bad thing. Maybe she had just wanted to pet the stupid cat. So she did. And it went to sleep and never woke up. She had scooped the body up off the table and put it on the rug in front of the fire where she thought it would be more comfortable and then went to the kitchen and made herself a tuna sandwich and three glasses of milk.

Deborah humors her for a moment and then flicks her nails at the spine of the book, "Ah can't stand it here no more…"

"So run away. Y’coulda done it a million times ovah already. It's not like we in prison."

"Ah'm afraid."

She stares at her, _Black Beauty_ forgotten. 

"What?"

"Ah'm afraid to go out there by mah'self." Deborah looks at the floor, her face red, furious that she's admitted it. "Ah ain't never been nowhere mah whole life..."

"Y’ll be fine. Ah seen ya. Ya beat the stuffin' out o' anyone that looks at ya funny. Ya don’t need no bodyguard."

"Ya think ah want ya t'be mah bodyguard? Ya think that's why Ah'm talkin' t’ya?"

She frowns. "Innit?"

"Shut up," Deborah grumbles and pushes her chair away from the table with a scrape.

-/-

She sits on the hood of Deacon James' car peeling an orange. She digs her fingernails in and tosses the spongy shell aside watching all the other seniors picnicking on the grass. She's sticking to the parking lot as usual. Distance is good. Not that anyone would try and talk to her. Not the girls anyway. Sometimes one of the boys would come up to her, try to chat her up. ( _"Hiya sexy-" "Fuck off Joe", "Lookin' goo-" "Fuck off Monk", "Hi." "Fuck off Kevin."_ ) Only Deacon ever kept coming back. He was a bit of a Cody that way. Her impulse is to be especially nasty to him because of it but instead, she finds herself eating lunch on his car every day. Not with him of course. He sits on the grass with his friends a few yards away, but always makes sure he can see her. He likes that she's there, and as long as it's understood that he doesn't approach her, talk to her, _anything_ her, she's more than happy to oblige him with sticky fingerprints on the hood of his car.

She almost likes that he likes her sometimes, almost wishes that things were different, she was different.

She licks the juice off her fingers feeling stupid and that gnawing in her gut starts up again. It always comes up when she thinks about Deacon. Or Cody. Or even the Bennett’s. She thinks about Toby sometimes, wonders what he looks like, if he remembers her at all which is dumb cause she was only there for a few months, but she'd almost been his sister so maybe- 

"Hey…"

She jumps, startled that Deacon has gotten so close without her realizing. Just a second ago he had been all the way over there on the lawn and now he’s leaning against his car right beside her and _she thought she’d quit that zoning out crap._ She resists the urge to shimmy off the car and away from him even though her heart is pounding, her palms are sweating and everything inside of her is screaming at her to do it. She doesn’t want him to know how freaked out she is by his closeness. People already think she’s weird enough.

She bites out a tense, “Whatcha want?" as he watches her yank her gloves back on.

"Why you always wearin' those?"

"Cause Ah'm cold."

"It's hot out."

"Ah'm a strange girl, Deacon."

He smiles at his shoes. 

"Yeah."

"Whatcha want?"

"Ah was just wonderin' if ya wanted ta sit with me, y'know, over there? Sara and Lou gotta go ta class an Ah'm free this period an Ah know you are too so Ah dunno. S'no fun eatin' lunch by y'self. 'Sides Ah got an extra sandwich Ah thought ya might want. All ya ever eat are oranges… Ah thought maybe ya’d like somethin’ diff’rent’s all." He dares a quick look before returning to his sneakers and she frowns at him.

She’s never been anything but horrible to him and here he is acting all shy and sweet and nervous and  _hopeful_  even though he knows what her answer is. "No" is the only thing she’s ever given him and he keeps on coming back for more. She shakes her head. She doesn’t understand him at all.

"Why d'ya even like me?"

He looks up at her again, this time holding her gaze. "’Cause Ah ain't seen nothin' like you in all my life," he whispers and she swallows feeling her eyes start to burn. She can't cry. That would be stupid. Deacon's full of shit.

She crosses her arms in front of her chest and glares at him instead and he stares back, his eyes as soft as hers are hard and he says, "Ah mean it."

"Deacon."

"Yeah?"

"You remember that poem in English last week? That Keats one?  _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_?"

"Yeah."

"Read it again. An don’t talk to me no mo'."

She can feel his eyes on her as she slides off the hood and crosses the lawn trying to keep from breaking into a run.  When she finally pushes open the doors to the school and steps inside she stands there for a moment in the cool darkness of the stairwell, her heart still thumping in her chest, and tells herself to _breathe_.

She hears the metal crunch-squeak of the door being pushed open again from the other side and runs up the steps to the girl's bathroom on the next floor. If it's Deacon and he catches her she doesn't know what she'll do. Punch him probably. Or kiss him. She thinks she wants to kiss him. She crashes into the girl's bathroom and there's a freshman inside mid-lipstick-application who stares at her.

"Get out," she snarls and the girl blinks and then scurries past her nearly running into Deborah as she shoves the door open.

"That wasn't very nice," Deborah says.

"This's a senior bathroom, it's on the senior floor."

"Ah meant Deacon."

"Deacon's stupid."

"Ah know. He could have anyone an' he wants  _you_. That's stupider than stupid." 

"Well, just plain ol' stupid's enough to get him hurt."

"Oh please, you'd never use y' death ray o' whatevah the hell it is on that boy. You a bitch but ya ain't no puppy-kicker."

" _Ah can't control it._ Ya think Ah dress like this cause Ah _like_ it? It's hotter'n hell under all this crap!"

Deborah shrugs.

"Ah just thought ya had no fashion sense."

"What ya want anyway? Why ya botherin' me?"

"Ah'm leavin'. Today."

"So?" 

Deborah sighs, exasperated, her bangs blowing up off her forehead.

"So Ah'm askin' skunk-head, do ya wanna come with me or what?"

She looks at her, assessing the seriousness of the offer, and for the first time notices how small Deborah really is. The top of her head would barely come up to her nose if they were standing side by side.

She remembers how scared she'd been of all those girls, Deborah especially, until she realized they couldn’t hurt her anymore. She hadn’t been scared of Deborah for a long time, but she'd never stopped thinking of her as someone bigger, stronger. It's weird looking at her now and just seeing a girl. Weirder still having this girl ask her for  _anything_  let alone companionship.

"But ya hate me."

"Well if Ah do it's y’own damn fault! Ah never understood why ya never… let it go. We all went through it… it's not like Ah liked beatin' on ya-"

"Then why'd ya keep doin' it?" 

"'Cause Ah was jealous okay? 'Cause ya kept gettin' _picked_ and Ah stayed where Ah was… ugly, worthless, Deborah. It wadn't 'til ya killed Bruce Ah started ta… not hate ya so much."

"That was _years_ ago, why ya talkin' ta me  _now_?"

"Cause it's taken me that long t'realize you worthless too!" 

" _Thanks_."

"Well look at ya! Ya don’t do nuthin', ya don’t have no friends, ya come to school, go back to the orphanage, work at th' stupid library. What kinda life is that? Not that Ah got anythin' better but at least Ah'm finally ready ta do sumthin' about it! An Ah know we ain't friends… but Ah known ya my whole life almost an where Ah'm goin' it'd be nice to have somethin' familiar around… So just gimme ya damn answer 'cause Ah'm leavin'  _now_ , Ah'm leavin' the stupid orphanage an Ah'm leavin' the stupid _state_."

She turns away from Deborah to look at herself in the mirror, making the girl sweat a little. If she gives in too easy it'll look like she wants to be friends which isn’t the case at all. Lately she's been kicking herself about turning down that lady Darkhome's offer. The only reason she hadn't accepted was because the woman had been looking at her like she wanted to take her apart and see how she worked. It had made her paranoid. And she hadn't wanted to be someone's experiment again, someone's Band-Aid, someone's babysitter. She had just wanted to get away from Mississippi. Because Cody's all over it. He's in the air and the trees and the grass. He's in the river. She has too many memories that aren’t hers about that river, about that tree… And sometimes when she’s lying in her bed at night, she knows exactly what each and every girl looks like in the dark and it makes her sick. The voices are long gone but the triggers are everywhere, and she’s been tumbling in and out of losing herself in them for years. It hadn't really occurred to her that she could just leave on her own, go someplace else and escape from them. Maybe it was true what Deborah'd said about her being afraid to leave what she knows, as horrible as it is. Maybe she was right about her sabotaging herself. 

She meets Deborah’s eyes in the mirror and she takes a deep breath, willing her voice not to shake when she asks,

"So where we goin'?"


	4. Fahrenheit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [What You Are - Drill](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3E3AztFSQUY)  
> [99.9 F - Suzanne Vega](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjZ4O3fpPwg)_

Deborah likes the nightclubs, she likes to dance. 

She watches her from the bar and can’t help but smile at how happy she looks, how free. She’s like a different person since they’ve come to New York and as impossible as it may have been to imagine as little as three weeks ago, they seem to have become _friends_. They agreed to leave everything behind them in the Senior bathroom and just start fresh and so far it’s been working. It helps that she likes it here just as much as Deborah does. There are too many people, which made her a little nervous at first, but she's getting used to it. As long as she keeps her gloves on and her sleeves long she's okay, she can handle it. New York City feels less intimidating every day and more like the adventure Deborah had promised it would be as they watched Mississippi disappear from the rear window of the Greyhound bus they took to get here.

The clubs though… She doesn’t think she’s ever going to get used to the clubs.

On the street the average person would rather gnaw their own hand off than have it come in contact with a stranger's, but here in the throbbing dark with the thumping music that echoes the pulse of their blood, they feel free to place theirs on her hip, on the small of her back. Men and women alike leaning in too close, asking her to dance, asking her name. And when they don’t take the hint, when they don’t back off she's almost tempted to give them what they want. Just a little sliver of skin, just a little _zap_ for payback…

She never does it, she usually just heads straight to the ladies room and camps out in the anteroom until she thinks they've either gone home for the night or moved on to someone else. Bruce and Cody have finally faded enough where she no longer feels quite so haunted and the last thing she wants is any more uninvited guests in her head no matter how satisfying it would be to see them hit the dirt.

Besides she’s come to love the anteroom at Fahrenheit. The couches are plush and velvet and more comfortable than her own bed, the walls made up of layers and layers of gauze in different shades of red, pink, and orange that hang down from the ceiling and sway a little when the door opens and closes. It’s what had given her the idea for her clothes. 

With the little money she had left after paying her half of the deposit on their shoebox apartment, she had gone shopping and found shirts and dresses made out of that same gauzy material in an assortment of colors. For the first time since she was eleven years old she was able to wear shorts and skirts and tank tops in the summer – underneath of course, but it made a huge difference comfort-wise. 

Tonight she'd picked out a long-sleeved see-through emerald green tunic with a white tank under it that stopped just below her rib cage and a short white skirt which she made up for with boots that came nearly to her knees. There was about five inches of exposed flesh between the hem of her skirt and the top of her boot, but she took care of that with stockings. She’s still not used to dressing up, but Deborah insisted that if they’re going to go out, they’re going to go  _out_. She thought the finished product looked a little strange tonight, but Deborah had taken one look at her, cocked her head to the side and said, _"Ah thought y'didn’ want no attention from nobody…"_ She'd meant it to be nice, but the comment had just made her even more self-conscious.

She peels the gauzy material away from her skin and fans herself with it. The club is hot and sticky from so many people breathing and sweating and existing all in one place, and she's uncomfortable. She doesn’t know why she agrees to go to these places with Deborah. All she does is watch people grind up on each other while she drinks a drink she can’t really afford until it’s time to hide in the bathroom when some jerk doesn't get that she's not interested (three times tonight,  _three_ ). Not exactly her idea of fun, but it's Deborah's and they're friends now, so she puts up with it without complaining even though she's dying to.

She watches Deborah dance with a longhaired guy in an artfully ripped Pearl Jam T-shirt, watches her laugh and smile and coyly twist a lock of his hair around her finger as he puts his hands on her hips and pulls her closer. When he moves in for the kiss she turns back to the bar, back to her drink. She downs it in one gulp, orders another and finishes that off too. She stares at the empty glasses, watches the colored lights flicker-flicker on the polished bar as yet another guy brushes up against her and says, "Heeeey beautiful…"

She wants to go. She turns back around to catch Deborah's eye, and leans against the bar, scanning the crowd for her.

"I said 'hey-"

 "Yeah, Ah ignored you." 

She finds her a moment later stumbling off the floor and into a corner with a yet _another_  guy, his face already buried in her neck, one of his hands sliding down her back and over the seat of her pants.

She catches flashes of reddish-brown hair under the revolving lights as he twists Deborah's black curls into his fist and tilts her head to the side. He slowly runs his tongue down her neck from just behind her ear to the curve of her shoulder where he lands a kiss and she knows she’s staring but she can’t help it.

He stops suddenly, his lips poised a breath away from Deborah's skin as she slips a hand between them and does God knows what.

He looks up and catches her eye.

She swallows, embarrassed at having been caught, but still doesn’t look away. His lower lip catches on Deborah's shoulder for a moment as he lifts his head to openly stare back.

And then he smiles.

She holds her breath as his eyes suddenly flutter shut, breaking contact with a slight gasp and then he grins down at Deborah, the tip of his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth. 

And then he looks up at her again.

She quickly turns away and moves, squirms through the crowd trying to get out.

She finally makes it outside and shivers as the midnight breeze slides over her skin, cools the sweat on her body. A couple stumbles out of the club behind her and into the alley pawing at each other. She hears a zipper and laughs helplessly, "Oh mah _gawd,_ " into her hands.

"Girl, whatcha doin' out here?" She spins around and Deborah's standing behind her smiling, out of breath, her hair mussed. "Ya weren' havin' fun?"

"Do ah ever?" Deborah laughs and piles her hair up on her head with one hand, fanning herself with the other. 

She nods at the red blotches decorating her shoulders and neck. Her throat feels tight but she forces a smile.

"Ya messin' around with a vacuum cleaner in there?" 

"Oh mah lord…" Deborah blushes, laughs again. "That _boy_ …that boy is sumthin' else… did ya get a look at him? That body… those eyes…"

"Ah take it ya ain't comin' home with me then?"

"Not on y’ life… Ah better get back there 'fore someone else snatches him up!"

"Alright, Ah'll see ya later… and Deb? Jus'…be careful, okay?"

Deborah looks at her for a long moment, touched, and then smiles and winks as she heads back inside, calling over her shoulder, "You too, girl."

-/-

She sits alone in their tiny apartment, sits on her mattress and looks at the rumpled sheets on top of Deborah's. She doesn’t cry because she doesn’t do that ever. She just stares at Deborah's meagre belongings and wonders what could have happened, if there was something she could have done. She's been asking herself that question for so long, and the answer is always the same every time. 

_Yes._

Yes, she could have gone for help when Cody didn't wake up. Yes, she could have let go of Bruce before she killed him. Yes, she could have left that dumb old cat alone. Yes, she could have stayed at the club until Deborah had had her fill of "that body… those eyes". But she didn't. And it's been over a week since she's heard from her.  

She called the police, she filed a Missing Person’s report. The sympathetic policewoman pat her gloved hand and said simply, _"This is New York City…"_ as though that were an adequate explanation for Deborah's disappearance.

She gets up from her bed, picks up the soft purple sweater Deborah had given her for her birthday two days after they had moved to the city. She pulls it on over her head, tugs the cuffs of her jeans down over her boots and notices a piece of paper on the floor half-hidden under the edge of Deborah's mattress. She picks it up and turns it over. There's a name and a Park Avenue address scrawled on it. She shoves it into her pocket and grabs the last of her cash for the subway. 

She doesn't know if that guy had anything to do with her disappearance, but she's positive he was the last person to see her. She's been to Fahrenheit eight times in the last ten days looking for him, and she's not stopping until either he or Deborah is found.

-/-

He sits at the bar, holds a glass between his thumb and middle finger, lazily swirling the liquid once, twice, before bringing it to his lips. He pulls a cigarette from the air and his features are momentarily lit by the flare of the lighter offered to him by a woman who presses her chest against his arm when he accepts.

He pauses mid-drag. 

His dark eyes slide away from the woman's face and search the crowd until he finds her sitting at the other end of the bar staring at him. He takes another slow pull and she watches the smoke curl out of his mouth as he exhales. He ducks his head, hair falling across a cheekbone that looks sharp enough to cut, lips curving into a small smile as he looks back up at her from under his eyelashes. The smile flickers when it isn’t returned, but it doesn’t go out. 

He slides off the barstool and disappears into the crowd leaving the woman with the chest staring after him.

She pushes herself up off her seat, straining to see over the crowd what direction he’s gone. She can't lose him now… this is the first time she’s seen him since that night and-

"Don' worry  _chere_ , I'm right here…" 

She lands back in her seat hard enough for it to wobble. A hand presses against the small of her back making sure she doesn’t fall and then takes its time removing itself when she doesn't. He slides into the snug space between her chair and the next, looks at her hands clutching the edge of the bar as she keeps her eyes on the dark crescents of his lowered lashes waiting for him to look at  _her_  so she can start interrogating him, and that deep smoky voice says, "You wan' some'ting  _belle_? O' you just content t' stare?" before he finally does with a grin.

She blinks. 

His eyes are completely black except for glowing red irises. They flash like a cat's in the dark. She knows she's really staring now but she doesn't apologize. She thinks he's used to it. She thinks he likes it.

"I seen you b'fore…" He squints at the dance floor, the weaving bodies. He nods at a secluded corner in the back near the stage. "I was dere an' you were right here at de bar. You ran away 'fore I could talk to you…" He turns back to her with those strange eyes. They flicker like firelight, distracting her. "But all's forgiven cuz you back…"

"Ah… ah need…"

"Me?" he grins again and she hates that she's so flustered. 

"Ah need ta ask ya some questions." 

"Well, dis a new approach… Lemme see if I can guess de first one. Is it "do ya wanna dance?""

"No."

""Are you here alone?""

"No."

""Can I have you phone number?""

"No." 

"Den I'm stumped, _chere_ , unless you de kinna girl dat cuts straight to de chase, in which case…" He leans in closer and whispers the next guess in her ear.

" _No,_ " she hisses blushing furiously and he sighs leaning back, his lower lip out in a pout. 

"Den what?"

"Ah… Ah need to know what happened to mah friend!"

"What frien'?"

"Her name's Deborah. She's a little smaller than me, with dark hair an' brown eyes…" 

He stares at her mouth. 

 _This is pointless…_  she thinks.  _He's probably been with a million "Deborah's" since then._

He reaches out and absently brushes her hair off her shoulder, waiting for her to continue.

She doesn’t believe for one second that he's actually listening. She glares at him. His fingers are still in her hair. She can’t believe she hasn't smacked him yet.

"Never mind." She turns her head away and he watches the white strands slide through his fingers.

"She here dat night you left me,  _chere_?" 

"How can ya not remember her?!" she explodes, frustrated. This isn't going the way she had planned at all. She'd expected guilt, answers,  _something_. "F' God's sake ya had y’ tongue down her throa-"

"I remember  _you_. Starin'. Wit yo' mouth hangin' open." 

"It was not!" 

He smiles to himself, nods. "I remember her now too."

" _Do_  ya? Ah'm _shocked_ …"

"Bambi."

"Huh?" 

He gestures at her eyes. Another cigarette appears out of nowhere and he slips it into his mouth, cups his palm over it, takes a drag. "Bambi eyes. Big. Soft. I never forget eyes like dat… Won’ be forgettin' yours neither… Why so hard,  _petite_? You decide you don' like me no more?"

"Ah just wanna know what happened ta mah friend that night."

"Bambi scampered off an' she never came back. Left me all alone, cryin' into my beer."

"Ah'll just bet."

"Seriously,  _chere_ , you ain't seen her since den?"

"No."

"An' you worried…" He shakes her head. "I hate to break dis to ya, but dis is New-"

"Ah know where Ah am an Ah've heard this excuse before, an' it ain't an excuse! People don’t just disappear without a trace!" 

"Dey do it all de time. 'Specially in big cities like dis. I'm sorry you sad but dey ain't notin' you can do t’ find her if she don' wan’ be found."

"How d'you know?"

He blows a smoke ring, watches it disappear above their heads. "I'm a bit o' an expert on dat."

She's had enough.

She slips off her chair, unintentionally brushing up against him and he smiles down at her. She mutters a sarcastic _"Thanks f' y' help,"_ and turns to go. 

"What about my questions?" he calls after her and she pauses.

"What?"

"You got to ask some, s'only fair that I get to too."

"Fine. Go ahead."  _Why am ah humorin' him?_

"Do ya wanna dance?"

"No."

"Are you here alone?"

"Yes an' Ah'm stayin' that way."

"Can I have you number."

"No." She glares at him and he shrugs.

"I never said dey'd be original…" An eyebrow raises. "What about-" 

" _No._ " She starts to leave again, and suddenly he's right beside her, fingertips lightly resting on the crook of her arm. 

"One more."

"What is it?"

"Your name."

"That ain't a question."

"I'm askin' for it."

"You won't remember." He looks into her eyes and he's too close but she doesn't move away. His fingers barely touch her and she can almost feel them through her sleeve. She's burning up. It's too hot for a sweater and his looking at her the way he's looking at her isn’t helping. 

"I'll remember," he says. 

She looks at his mouth quick to slip into a smile, a sulk, a pout. The cigarette sleeps in his hand at his side, a long trail of gray smoke snaking up past his hip. Everything about him says _danger_ , says _sex_ , says _I’m untrustworthy as hell_.

She moves away from him, his fingers trailing down her arm as she mutters, " _Rogue_." 

"Dat you or me,  _chere_?" 

She doesn't answer. She walks away leaving him staring after her until the cigarette burns itself up and he drops it with a curse.

She pushes the doors open, steps outside and stops, standing in roughly the same spot she had been in a little over a week ago when Deborah had laughed, had panted over that guy.

 _That guy…_  

Her only lead and he'd been no help at all.

She takes a deep breath feeling too warm. Jelly kneed. She's still blushing. She had been the whole time he had been talking to her, looking at her. A ribbon of warmth uncurls in her belly like the smoke from his lips as she thinks about those unnerving eyes and she fights the urge to take off the sweater. A _sweater_. In July. She is a moron. The only reason she had worn it was because she had wanted Deborah with her. She thought it would bring her luck. 

_So much f'that…_

She shoves the sleeves up her arms and presses her gloved hands to her face, frustrated.

_Deborah, where are ya…_

" _Chere_ -" a hand on her arm. 

Skin on her skin. 

It only takes a second, just a whisper of contact.


	5. Remy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [The Other Side - David Gray](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8deP7V8TzPM)_

_New Orleans is a woman. He knows her intimately. He's seen her clothed in moonlight and naked as the day. He's followed the curves of her body to places he never imagined existed, breathed in her heady musky scent until it made him dizzy, made him drunk. He's swum in the rivers of her crowds slippery as a fish and twice as swift, he's found refuge in the cradle of her arms, been rocked to sleep by her big brass heartbeat. He's had his fingers on her pulse and his hands in her pockets for as long as he can remember. She's his first love._

_He sits at the edge of the fountain beside Café Du Monde breathing in the sweetness of fresh beignets sipping his third café au lait as he waits for his second. He watches the powdered sugar swirling on the warm breeze and a napkin flutters against his boot. He picks it up. It says "Hi" in cherry red lipstick. He catches the eye of a blonde who winks, who nods at the empty chair at her table. He looks at her note again, shakes his head, grins._

_"Sorry, chere… I wait for someone."_

_"You sure?" she purrs, "You've been sitting there an awfully long time…"_

_And he has. It's been almost two hours and she's still not here._

_She'd never actually said that she would come, but he had hoped that as fucked up as everything was she would understand that yesterday hadn’t been a mistake. Everything had been leading up to it for so long that when she finally reached for him, finally let him hold her it was like a dam breaking and an innocent afternoon swim had ended in sex. But that's not all it was, not this time, not for him. He'd looked down at his Belle, her body glistening with sweat like something jeweled and perfect and he'd felt… sated. For the first time in his life…_

_If he did nothing else but lie naked on the bayou painting "I love you's" on her skin with river mud he'd die a happy man._

_He wants to tell her that. He'd been about to yesterday but he'd stopped himself because it was all too much. All he'd been able to say was "meet me at de café tomorrow at noon."_

_It's 1:47._

_He thinks he knew all along that she wasn’t going to come, that she wasn't going to choose him, but he sat here for over an hour anyway trying to make himself believe that any minute she was gonna come strolling up to him with that smile, with those big blue eyes and say "yes" to him, "yes" to what they had started all those years ago the first time they had laid eyes on each other. It's not going to happen. She'd whispered between kisses "we shouldn' be doin' this" and because she had been breathless because she had wanted him because she had been touching him and touching him and touching him it hadn't occurred to him that she meant it._

_He looks at the blonde woman, at her legs tucked demurely under the wrought iron table, at her bare thighs dappled with the sunlight falling through. He looks at the Mardi Gras beads coiled around her wrist, the "Welcome to New Orleans" pamphlet peeking out of her bag. He swallows. She isn't coming._

_"Need a tour guide, chere?"_

_Sexy cherry red smile._

_Mama N'awlins sings a song of honking cars, hissing grills and clinking glasses, laughter and jazz. She's in a party mood…_

She opens her eyes expecting a velvet bedspread under her cheek, expecting terrace doors to be flung open to the slow heat of the late afternoon and the friendly bustle of the French Quarter below. There'd been champagne and sex. Lots of sex. The girl had been rich, she'd wanted to do it on a velvet bed with twenty-dollar bills scattered across it like rose petals and he hadn't been tempted to take any of it, not once. He'd only gone back to her room for one reason. To fuck Belle out of his head, out of his heart and it hadn’t worked.

She sits up. She's not in a hotel room. She's… in a subway car? A train comes down one of the tunnels, slashes of light cutting away some of the blackness. There are clothes in a corner, bottles on the floor, a boom box and a blanket. The smell of dirt and metal hits her empty stomach, making it heave. 

"Where de hell am Ah…"

The train passes and an unnervingly empty silence follows.

She's alone. And she's too hot… She was too hot before… Where was that?  _When_  was that? 

_sweating bodies shining like silver under strobe lights… red eyes burning… hands sliding across velvet, sixty dollars floating to the floor… mud… pink skin… love you, belle… purple sweater… scarves like nooses, leather gloves up to her elbows… fingers on her elbow, a feather soft touch like a first kiss… bad touch… don’t touch me… don't… touch me touch me touch me touch me…_

_Your name…_

_I'm askin'…_

_I'll remember…_

_Firelight flickers, flames go out, he falls like they all fall…_

Burning

"Ahh…"

Fire in her hands, eating through the gloves… She watches the leather peel away like paper, like an orange skin… pink skin… too pink… glowing glowing…

"AHHHH…"

Black leather like burnt skin falls to the rubber mat on the metal floor haloed in pink, red, orange swaths of energy waving, waving like gauze.

**_BOOM_ **

The explosion sends her flying back against the smudged windows. She slumps down on the seat staring at the charred scraps of glove dizzy and  _what the hell did Ah just do…_

She holds herself in her arms, beginning to panic. This has never happened before.  _Memories_ , yes,  _voices_ , yes,  _confusion, disorientation, panic_  - check, check, check - all present and accounted for… When did  _boom_  become a part of the bad thing?

Her arms are warm, hot.

"No no no no no no…"

Her sweater… her purple sweater's pink…

She tears it off and flings it away. It explodes in midair throwing her back against the seat again, her head knocking sharply against the glass.

_Why is this happenin’ t’ me…? What did Ah do?_

_I killed him._

_I killed him, Belle…_

-/-

_New York City is a man. A man with bourbon, a man with a cigar, a business suit, a card. It swaggers, it menaces. He drinks bourbon too, but he prefers cigarettes. He's only got one suit and it's been left behind._

_Cards._

_He's got cards alright._

_He swaggers, he menaces, he takes what he wants with a flash of teeth, a flick of his wrist._

_New York City is a bum. Homeless. Skyscrapers of cardboard. Peep shows and hookers, female, male, hey pretty boy, smile for me… hands in his pockets, skin on his skin they take what they want with a flash of cash but when their hands are busy so are his. He's getting more than a few bucks for this, he's getting it all. He's a businessman too…_

_New York City kicks his ass and he deserves it. He's left the ghosts behind, made one out of himself. He completely disappears. Eighteen is a man all alone in a big city with jazz you have to pay for…_

_No freebies, chere… Well, maybe jus dis one time, jus for you…_

_Whass my name? What you wannit to be?_

"Remy…"

He's framed between the shoved open doors of an abandoned subway car, his hotel room missing its terrace, no spicy breeze, no music. Screech of metal, slices of light outline his body as he stands there and stares, shocked.

"How you get here…" She doesn't answer, she doesn't know. She looks at her hands. Naked, no gloves. They're curled on the floor, burnt. Scraps of purple… her sweater… _Deborah_ … She wants to cry but she doesn't do that. Her eyes burn instead. She feels him move, holds out a hand to stop him.

_"Stay there!"_

He pauses, says softly, "Don' be 'fraid,  _chere_ , I ain' gonna hurt you… jus' gonna…" he slowly slides his coat down his shoulders and off his arms. He holds it out to her. "Here, take it. It get cold down here…"

Goosebumps rise on her bare skin as she realizes she's wearing nothing but her bra and jeans, boots. She accepts his jacket with a shaking hand and pulls it on, clasping it shut over her breasts, feeling the heat from his body wrap around her.

"Ah… burnt mah clothes…" He looks at what's left of them and sits down on the bench across from her frowning.

"How you do dat?"

"Mah hands… it came from mah hands…"

"Like dis?" He takes a card from an open deck splayed out on the seat next to him and holds it up between his fore and middle fingers. It highlights the slope of his cheeks in pink neon and she nods, eyes wide as it burns itself to ash. He brushes his hand on his thigh. "An here I was tinkin' I was an original…"

"Original what?" she whispers.

"Mutant,  _chere_. You can do de _big boom_ too, eh? Maybe dat's why I pass out? We got wires crossed?"

"Ah thought Ah killed ya…"

"Woke up 'bout an hour 'go wit de shakes. Jus' thought I had me some bad ecsta-  _extra-strength Tylenol_ … Wallet was gone. Dat was humiliatin' considerin'…"

"Y' a theif…" He raises his eyebrows.

"Now how you know dat?"

"Ah know about you…"

His eyes harden, they flash.

"What you doin' here,  _chere_? Who are you?"

She shakes her head, she doesn’t want him mad at her, she's too weak to fight. She doesn't want to have to touch him again.

"Ah'm… Ah can't blow stuff up… never could 'fore Ah touched  _you_  anyway… Usually when Ah do dat -  _that_ \- people die… an' Ah take things from them… Ah take their mem'ries… Ah got yours... Remy…"

He stares at her, swallows. She can tell he's uncomfortable and it bothers him.

"Serves me right chasin' after a girl dat didn' wan' be caught…" he mutters to himself and then smiles sheepishly. "But den I wouldn' be me if I didn' try…"

"Why did ya follow me…"

"I wanted to help you find you frien'."

"Why would you even care?"

"You sad. I don' like dat." He rubs his eyes, his temples. "Dat's one hell of a power you got dere… knocked me flat on my ass…"

"Ah'm sorry…"

" _I'm_  sorry. Wish I'd known… I could have helped you wit dat…" He gestures at the scorch marks on the floor. "First time I got dem every'ting I touch -  _bakow_ … Took me a long time to get dem ta work for me 'stead against me. My hands still not too pretty." He shows them to her, shows her the scars crisscrossing over his palms. "I wear gloves too…"

He trails off. He's staring at her chest. She looks down at her hands holding his coat shut over it and there's blood under them, staining it.

" _Merde_ …" He sinks down to his knees, reaching out to her and she stiffens. He pauses. "I jus' wanna help,  _chere_ … I know how much it hurts…" She slowly let’s go of his coat, shows him her hands. She sucks in her breath when she sees them. Red. Black.

"Oh mah God…" He reaches for a bottle of alcohol on the floor and untwists the cap.

"I know it look bad, but it jus' de first layer o' skin dat's gone. It'll heal… won't hurt so much in a week o' so… Dis though…" He holds up the bottle. "You gonna hate me but I hafta…"

"Juh… just do it…" 

He pours, and she tries not to scream.

-/-

He bandages her hands with scraps of a silk shirt, carefully wrapping them up, carefully avoiding her skin. She watches him, breathes him in. He’s so close but she’s not feeling that panicky feeling in her stomach, her shoulders, like she usually does. It’s something softer, lighter. He smells good. She coughs, her face feeling too warm.

"Ya live here?"

"I sleep here. Sometimes." 

"Ya got money f' silk shirts an'  _"extra-strength Tylenol"_ but not a place to stay?"

"I got 'spensive habits,  _chere_. 'Sides I move round a lot."  _Different apartments, different houses, different bedrooms_. "I may be getting' out o' here soon though… maybe got me a place to go…" He looks into her eyes, still holding her bandaged hands in his. "Maybe you come too… People like us-"

"Ah got a place." He reluctantly lets go of her hands and leans back against the seat bank as she asks, "How many are there? Mutants Ah mean…"

"Hundreds, thousands, who knows? Y'never heard o' mutants b'fore?"

"Ah'm from Mississippi." 

He smiles, points to himself. 

"Louisiana."

_Ah know…_

"I didn’ know either 'till I came out here."

"Is it… is it our fault? That we have… powers?"

"Iss in our genes, like bein' born wit' green eyes 'stead o' blue. O' red eyes fo' dat matter - luck o' de draw."

"Ah meant… like the powers specific to _us_ … Did you develop that on purpose?" She nods at the pile of ash on the floor.

"You mean was I sittin' around tirteen years old 'tinkin' _'if only I could blow stuff up'_ … and den bang?" He smiles. "I don' tink so… I mean you weren' sittin' aroun' wishin' y'couldn' be touched, right?"

"Right," she whispers.

"Damn shame it is”

"What?"

"Dat you can't be. You feel good. Dat's de last ting I thought before de  _zap_. I thought, _"dis girl has de softest skin…"_ " He pulls out a cigarette, slips it into his mouth. "Dat's sayin' sometin', I've touched a lot o'-"

She gets to her feet and he stares up at her from the floor, his unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

"Whass wrong?"

"Ah have ta go."

"You still weak, _chere_."

"Ah'm fine, Ah jus' wanna go home…"

"I'll go wit' you." He stands up and she shakes her head. "Jus' to make sure you get dere okay - dat's all."

"No… Ah jus wanna be alone." 

He stares at her for a long moment, says softly, "You leavin' me again?" She doesn’t answer and he turns away, picks up a shirt from one of the seats. "Here, de coat ain' gon' be enough…" She tries to take it from him with her bandaged hands, wincing as she bends her fingers. "Will you let me help?"

She takes a deep breath and nods. He puts the shirt down to part the material of the coat, keeping his eyes on hers as he carefully slips it off her shoulders. It drops to the floor, and he helps her with the shirt, one arm then the other. 

He steps in a little closer, his eyes never leaving hers as he buttons it for her slowly, one at a time.

He finishes and neither of them moves.

"Your name,  _chere_ …"

She shakes her head.

"You don' trust me?" She stares up at him thinking,  _I know you too well_ … and he sighs almost like he knows. "Non, I wouldn' neither…"

She steps back, awkwardly turns to leave but he holds something out to her. 

Gloves. 

"T'replace th' other ones…" he says. 

She takes them from him. She whispers "Thanks…" and he nods, watching her go from the doorway as another train rattles down the tunnel, slices of light cutting through the darkness.


	6. Brotherhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Honestly Ok - Dido](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCcNGt_eliM)  
> [Crawling Up a Hill - Katie Melua](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=59EbdONlBuE)_

Every night she lies in her bed feeling hands. Hands slapping over her mouth, sliding up her hips, fingers in her hair pulling, shaking so bad they tangle, knuckles in her ribs, in a clumsy caress against her cheek. She always curls into a cannonball half convinced that if she looks over Deborah will be snoring softly in the next bed ten years old and that when the door creaks open he won’t be dead anymore. 

She's tried so hard to keep away from everyone, tried to make sure no one could touch her like that again, ever. She's kept herself covered, kept her distance, kept her defenses up. 

He'd gotten through anyway.

It's  _his_  hands she's feeling now, his fingers gently tugging her hair in a way that makes her close her eyes and tilt her face up to the empty air waiting for something she never knew she wanted. Her breath hitches as he touches her, as he uncurls her body, catching the fists before they hit, smoothing down her nightgown, holding her to him, not holding her down. She takes his hands in hers, guides them over the curves of her body, the scars on his palms making her gasp, making her shiver. 

She wears his shirt and nothing else when she lies down to sleep, pretends it's his arms around her, his skin against her skin. She thinks about what he can do to her, what she wants him to do to her without once trying to stop herself. She plays it out in her mind until she's aching. She can’t help it. She's at Fahrenheit all over again, staring through the smoke unable to turn away.

He'd only touched her for a second and two weeks later the power is gone, but not the memories. She still has scraps of them floating around in her head. She still feels like she knows the places he's been, still finds herself loving the things he's loved. She still feels his heart, feels what it felt when it broke and she knows what he did to mend it, what he still does, what he's always done to keep himself from feeling too alone… and it's haunting her, it's keeping her up at night.

She opens her eyes to the two am darkness, listens to her heavy breath. A smooth sheen of sweat covers her exposed skin and she feels shaken, foolish. Angry. She sits up, pulls off his shirt and throws it away before climbing back under the sheets. 

She's absorbed a man who craves skin, contact. This hunger isn't hers. 

She looks at the silk pooled on her floor and stops herself from reaching out a hand to take him back.

She closes her eyes tight, turns her face to the wall. 

She needs him.

She needs him  _gone_.

-/-

Remy's memory guides her back to the abandoned subway tunnel, back to his place. It's been three weeks since she's last been here. 

She had hoped his memories, his…urges, would be out of her system by now, that's why she had been putting off bringing back his stuff. She hadn’t wanted to face those eyes until she was sure that she was completely herself again and could handle looking into them without wanting to rip his clothes off and-

She hopes he's out. 

She slips in between the gap in the doors and stops. His things are gone. A lone playing card sits on the seat where his radio had been. _Queen of Hearts._ She picks it up and reads the message scrawled across the back of it, _"Don't worry chere…I'm right here…"_ At the bottom is an address for "Xavier's School". She's not sure whether she's annoyed that he knew she'd come back, or glad that he'd thought about her at all. 

_Chere…_

He has a million  _cheres_. 

Annoyed. 

She crunches the card up in her fist and drops it on the floor. She thinks about taking his stuff with her. She likes the gloves. They're too big for her and two of the fingers on each one have been cut off, but when she puts them on it feels like he's holding her ha-

She drops his belongings on the seat and leaves.

When she gets to the street she pulls a scrap of paper out of her pocket. Raven Darkholme's address in Deborah's slanted writing stares up at her. This is the only address she needs.

-/-

She steps into the elevator and pushes the button for the penthouse. The lobby of Ms Darkholme's building is fancier than any place she's ever been and it makes her wish she'd worn a dress or something. She remembers how smooth and sophisticated Ms Darkholme had looked when she had visited her all those months ago and looking at her own messy reflection in the mirrored doors she wonders why she had even noticed someone like her in the first place. 

The elevator opens with a polite _ding_ and she steps out into the hallway. There's only one door. She reaches for the bell and it opens before she can ring it. 

A young man stands on the other side and he grins at her, his teeth bright against his tanned skin. 

"Hi - You're the one who called earlier, right?"

"Yes, Ah need to speak to Ms Darkholme, please."

"She's in a meeting now, but I'll show you where you can wait."

She nods and follows him down another hallway, her shoes sinking into the plush burgundy carpet. An eclectic collection of paintings decorate the cream-colored walls and she stops when she sees a Picasso.

She squints at it through the protective glass.

"That's not… that's not real is it?" she asks and he shrugs continuing on around the corner.

"Prob'ly. Raven's loaded. We're gonna wait here." He leans against the wall and nods at a dark wood bench beside the matching double doors. She sits down and studies the piece behind him so she won’t have to talk and her breath catches in her throat when she realizes what it is. 

 _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_  by Waterhouse. 

"You don’t like it?" The guy pushes himself off the wall and plops down beside her on the bench. "She got it for you."

She blinks, looking away from the painting with a frown. "What?"

"It's for you."

"Why would she do that?"

"She always buys something for each of us. I got a sculpture."

"But Ah said no, Ah didn’t go with her." He shrugs. 

"She knew you'd come around." 

"Ah don’t even know what this place is…"

"We call it The Brotherhood."

The double doors open and a lanky blonde boy saunters out tossing a fireball up and down in his hands. He continues down the hall without looking at them and the young man nods at his back and says, "That's St. John - Pyro."

"Uh huh…" 

"And I'm Dominic by the way. They call me Avalanche."

"Why's that?"

He grins again and claps his hands together. The floor rumbles beneath her, the paintings slapping against the walls. The bench cracks, splits, and she tumbles to the ground. 

"Damn it, Petros!" Ms Darkholme steps out into the hall her eyes flashing, "If I've told you once-" She breaks off when she sees her on the floor. She glares at Dominic again. "Why didn’t you tell me she arrived?"

"You were with Pyro-"

"It was just a progress report. This is more important." Ms Darkholme smiles down at her and holds out her hands. She takes them after a moment's hesitation and straightens her blouse when she gets to her feet, quickly letting go. "I think we'll leave Mr Petros here to clean up his mess."

"Myst-" She points at the ruined bench, silencing him with a look.

"You're buying me a replacement. 19th century. Italian. Get on it," she says firmly and leads her through the double doors into an office. Another painting hangs on the wall over the desk, one of Matisse's Blue Nudes. She stands there looking at it as Ms Darkholme shuts the door behind them with a soft click.

"Do you like it?" she asks motioning for her to sit at the chair in front of the desk. There are scorch marks on the cushions.

"Yes. Ah... Ah have a Matisse poster in mah room…" She murmurs, looking at the burns on the armrests, " _Pasiphae_."

Ms Darkholme nods, smiles again softly. "I love that one. Do you know her story?"

She shakes her head.

"King Minos insulted Poseidon, and in retaliation the sea-god made the king's wife - Pasiphae - fall in love with a bull. She was so consumed with passion that she begged Daedalus to build a wooden cow for her in which she could enclose herself so she'd be able to make love to the bull. She became the mother of the minotaur."

"Y’kiddin'…" 

"That's how the story goes." 

"That's… really gross."

"You're not going to be able to look at it the same way again are you?" She shakes her head and Ms Darkholme laughs. "Pasiphae was a woman who desired something she could not possibly have, and yet she found a way to get it. I find that... inspirational. It really is a beautiful piece, I'm sorry if I ruined it for you."

"Ms Darkholme-"

"Call me Raven." Raven sits down on the edge of the desk and motions to the chair again.

"Y’prob'ly wonderin' why Ah'm here…" she says taking it.

"Deborah gave you my address."

"Well, no, Ah  _found_  it in our room, but why… why did Deborah even have it? Ah didn' know she talked to ya when ya came to th' orphanage…"

"When she heard you didn’t want to come here she caught me before I left and begged me to take her instead. I couldn’t of course, but I gave her my address to give to you in case you changed your mind." 

"Why? Ah mean why couldn’ you take her?"

"I think you know." 

She looks down at her hands, at her new black gloves. She looks back up at Raven who nods at them.

"Because she ain't a mutant. Like me."

"I'm sorry I couldn’t talk to you in more detail about why I sought you out, but that woman insisted on staying there for the entire interview…"

"Foggerty always does that."

"The woman looked older than dirt. I was afraid the shock of finding out who you were would have killed her. If I had been able to talk to you alone I would have explained why I wanted you here."

"An why did ya?"

"I thought you could help us."

"With what exactly?"

"Gathering intel among other things. Your absorption power would be especially beneficial to us in that regard."

"How d'ya even know about that? How didja even know about  _me_  all the way down there in Mississippi?"

"I have a friend who told me about you. She's a mutant like you. Like me."

"What's your power?"

"I'm a metamorph. That means that I can shift the atoms and molecules of my body… in order to change my appearance…"

Raven's skin shimmers as she speaks, her dark hair melting into gold. Her eyes turn a familiar shade of blue.

Shadow to match them and fine, barely-there lines appear in their corners. 

A smile with a slightly crooked bottom row of teeth. 

A pale smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Down to the last detail is Julia Bennett's face. 

She stares at her, her mouth hanging open.

"She beat me to you," Raven says with Julia's voice, Julia's glossy lips. "You had already been adopted the first time I came to see you. I wanted to get to you before it happened, before your power manifested itself, but I was too late…" Raven's features shift back into her own as she reaches out to her. Her fingers stop just shy of grazing her cheek and she realizes she's crying. She never cries. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there to help you…" Raven says, and she pulls away from her, wiping her cheeks on her sleeve, embarrassed.

"Do ya know what Ah did?"

"Tell me."

"Ah put the first boy who ever kissed me into a coma. He got lost in it and neve' foun' his way out. Ah took him inta mah'self… took ever'thin', his hopes, his fears, his dreams… Ah find myself watchin' the World Series ever' year an Ah get this pang right  _here_ -" she presses a hand against her heart, "an Ah know it's comin' from him. Ah don’t care about baseball. He loved it. He wanted to grow up ta be a pitcher…" She shakes her head. "He ain't gonna grow up ta be nothin'. Ah took his future away from him. Ah killed him."

"That wasn't your fault-"

"Maybe not but th' other one was. Ah knew what Ah could do then, Ah figured it out. He came ta me an Ah held his hand down on mah knee an' Ah pulled with ever'thin' Ah had. When Ah felt the bad thing comin' Ah urged it on. Ah wanted him  _gone_. But he's still here… Ah have problem's breathin' sometimes. Just a little shortness a' breath that comes an' goes…" She looks down at her hands, at her tears on the leather. "When he was touchin' us he hated himself for doin' it. Ah took  _that_  from him too - th' disgust as well as th' asthma… There was a boy at school Ah kinda liked but Ah think even if Ah had mah stupid mindsuckin' powers under control Ah still wouldn't a' been able to go through with anythin'. Ah woulda felt like Ah was doin' somethin' wrong, disgustin'… Ah haven' wanted to touch nobody because a' all that shame rollin' around inside me… Ah've been  _glad_  Ah can't…"

_But now here's Remy still in mah head weeks later makin' me want…_

"I'm so sorry you went through all of that by yourself, I should have come back before that last time, but Irene didn’t know where you were… I can't tell you how shocked we were when we found out you had been brought back to the orphanage, that you had been there for so long…" Raven reaches out again, lightly runs her fingers through her hair and she doesn't turn away. She leans into it and she wants to cry again.

"Ah shoulda gone with you then…"

"I understand why you didn't. I was too late. It must have seemed strange, this woman blowing in out of nowhere, asking especially for a seventeen-year-old girl with… _distinctive_  features." She tucks the streak of white hair behind her ear and she closes her eyes feeling weak and raw in the face of Raven’s gentleness, her kindness. “It’s alright, you’re here now...”

“Ah haven’t told ya why Ah am… it’s Deborah. She disappeared weeks ago an Ah've tried ever'thin… Ah filed a report, Ah talked to… people. Ah jus' remembered yesterday that Ah'd found y’address with her things. But if y'say y'only gave it to her for _me_ …" she shakes her head frustrated that once again her lead is leading nowhere at all. "Ah was hopin' y'd know somethin', but if y'haven’ seen her since the orphanage…"

"You're worried about her."

"Ah'm  _scared_  fo' her… An don’t ya give me that _"this is New York and stuff like that happens so get used to it"_ crap cause Ah've heard it before an' it don’t do nothin' but piss me off."

"You're right to be pissed off. You shouldn’t have to "get used" to things like people disappearing, getting hurt, but unfortunately it  _does_  happen all the time. We're all targets. Especially people like you, like me."

"Ah ain't a target. Nobody can touch me."

Raven shakes her head.

"If they know what you are, what you can do, they'll find a way, believe me… We protect mutants here - myself and my partner Irene, St. John and Dominic… when they aren't destroying the furniture anyway... We use our powers to stop those who want to hurt us, who want us to live like second class citizens." Raven's eyes cast over, storm clouds brewing in their depths suddenly making her look dangerous and cold. "Measures are being taken even as we speak to control the "mutant problem". Those of us deemed too dangerous to live are hunted down like animals. Laws are being proposed that will require tracking devices to be embedded into a mutant's skin - even those who have no real power, but simply look different will be forced to undergo the procedure… And it's all being covered up, every murder, every  _proposal_ … Half the country doesn't even know what a "mutant"  _is_. But they're going to. It may be their world now, but we're going to take it back." She looks deep into her eyes, her hand on her shoulder and says quietly. "You can’t help Deborah, but you can help others, others like  _you_. You can help us make sure that they don’t  _disappear_  like your friend."

"But… what can  _ah_  possibly do?" she whispers overwhelmed by Raven's anger, her intensity, as well as everything else she has seen and heard since coming here.

"Did you see the Waterhouse out there in the hall?" Raven asks and she nods.

"Dominick told me y'got it… for me."

"I did. Another  _inspirational_  woman…"

"But she's a monster…"

Raven smiles softly, squeezing her shoulder. "She's a woman who has the  _power_  to get what she needs to survive. Use your beauty as she does, lure them near, make them  _want_  you to touch them and when you do take what you need from them to  _protect_  yourself… to protect us all."

She shakes her head feeling sick.

_Gathering intel…_

"Ah told ya, the people Ah touch… Ah  _kill_  them… an' they… they  _haunt_  me. They may fade to the background, but they're never really  _gone_ … There's a price f’what y’askin'… Ah don’t wanna hurt nobody…"

Raven is quiet for a moment, still looking into her eyes. 

"Would you consider staying here for a while? You don’t have to help us if you're not willing but… I'd like to try and help  _you_  in any way I can. Maybe together we can find a way for you to control your powers. Maybe we'll discover a way for you to use them safely - for yourself as well as others…"

"Why do ya care so much…" 

"I can’t help it… I look at you and I feel… I feel like I was meant to protect you, shelter you, help you find your place in this world and not be ashamed, not be afraid. Will you let me try?"

She looks into Raven's earnest gray eyes and she wants to trust her, wants to believe her. She doesn't know what else to do.

Raven holds out her hand and for the second time this afternoon she takes it


	7. Destiny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:_   
>  [Sunset (Bird of Prey) - Fatboy Slim](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ekZ6iYk7ik)   
>  [Hayling - FC Kahuna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUIzq-HcNPA)

_""The Brotherhood of Evil Mutants"? Y’ kiddin' right? That's not really what ya call y’selves…"_

_"In the eyes of the world all mutants are "evil""_

_"So ya bein' ironic then?"_

_"Sure."_

St. John's power, when activated, feels like a little electric shock.

Accompanying the shock is a flash of heat between the eyes and in the heart. The current then meets in the shoulders and rushes down the arms, pooling in the palms where an oily iridescence rises up from them. When it's lit, he's got something to play with. A dancing flame, his finger the wick. A fireball rolled into shape by his hands. An animal. He's especially fond of firebirds.

He watches one soar through his bedroom leaving smoke trails in its wake.

_"Our powers are like muscles - the more they are used, the stronger they become and the more control we have over them. When I first began shifting it hurt so much I'd pass out and wake up hours later with a new face, a new body. I was terrified, but I learned to control it. I knew I had to. I pushed myself even though it hurt, and I kept hold of who I was so that when I looked in the mirror again, even though my features were different, I saw myself."_

The firebird hovers above him, its wings outspread, tiny flames forming the feathers. He'd love nothing more than for it to wrap those wings around him and soothe his bruised and battered body, his aching muscles… 

A hot shower would probably be safer.

_"If you're not going to use your powers you need to learn how to defend yourself in other ways…"_

He peels off what's left of his uniform and drops it onto the white fluffy bathmat. There'll be soot marks no doubt. Raven'll have a heifer.

He twists the knobs to turn on the water and steps carefully under the icy hot spray wincing a little.

_"I'll help you learn how to fight."_

_"Ah already know how ta fight."_

_"You've studied Martial Arts? Or perhaps-"_

_"Ah'm a brawler, Raven. No punches pulled. Everythin' above an' below the belt."_

_"And you think you can take Pryo?"_

_"If he ain't gonna use his powers, yeah."_

_"And if he does?"_

He lathers himself up, scrubbing away the blood and burnt skin, humming.

_She takes a pair of scissors and cuts the thumb and middle fingers off her gloves. Raven watches her do it, smiling. "Just in case?" she asks and she doesn’t answer. "You're going to need a code name… something to use if you ever decide to join us in the field…”_

_She slips the gloves back on. They look like Remy's now._

_"Call me "Rogue"," she says._

He turns off the water, pushes open the glass door and stands there dripping on the ruined bathmat before swiping a hand across the foggy mirror.

He grins at his reflection, "Why h'lo there…"

One of his creations has come to call. 

_A Botticellian goddess with a mahogany river of damp curls tumbling over her breasts, eyes green like sea glass, pink lips a rosebud waiting to be plucked…_

_He ran his fingers over them as she trembled…_

_No… quivered…_

_He ran his fingers over them as she quivered… like a plucked violin string…_

_No Ah used "plucked" before… umm…_

_A Botticellian goddess with a mahogany river of damp curls tumbling over her breasts, eyes like sea glass…_

_Focusing..._

_Focusing to a hard familiar emerald._

"Goddammit!"

_Pyro!_

She'd accepted the faceoff because she had wanted to prove to Raven that she could protect herself without her powers. True she'd never done it before, but she'd been beaten up enough times in the past to have picked up a few tricks. She had really thought she could handle the guy without skin on skin contact. The cutting up of her gloves had been an impulse - before she'd even realized what she was doing the scraps of leather were already on the floor. Maybe subconsciously she knew same as Raven that she'd have to do it, have to touch him if she wanted to survive the "training session". 

All she had to do was tag his foot and avoid the flames while doing it, but after a few minor burns she found herself reaching for his face instead. She knew she couldn’t win. She knew he was going to kill her and she knew Raven wouldn't stop him. 

_"Whatever happens in there happens. I'm not going to intervene. You have what it takes to get the job done on your own and I'm not just talking about your power. You're smart and resourceful and-"_

And screw that. She'd been burnt too many times without getting anywhere near his stupid foot. Raven had neglected to mention that he could use his stupid flame throwers to  _fly_. 

She'd ended up playing the wounded bird. The second he touched ground to go in for the kill, she punched him in the face with one exposed knuckle and that was enough to do the trick.

_"Bravo."_

A knock on the bathroom door.

She grabs a towel, wraps it around herself.

"Yeah?"

"It's Dominick… Raven thought you might be here."

"She mad at me f'puttin' that punk in the infirmary?"

"She's _proud_ of you."

She looks at her reflection again. It looks like she has a sunburn. A really really bad sunburn. 

She picks up a match from beside the candle in St. John's bathroom. He likes to lie in the bathtub with only the candle burning as he plots out his novels. It's his secret, this little ritual, as well as the projects themselves. Raven couldn't care less what he does in his spare time, but Dominick would never let him live it down. St. John wants to be a romance writer. He wants Fabios and damsels spilling out of their peasant blouses with lurid titles in shiny pink lettering. 

She lights the match and holds it over her cupped palm. The flame jumps into it and she molds it with her mind, making herself another bird. She likes this power, it's fun. She wonders how long she's going to get to keep it. Remy's had disappeared pretty quickly but she had felt some of his agility kicking in when she had been evading Pyro's blasts. Or she thinks it was his. She doesn’t know where else it could have come from. Remy is the only person she's ever touched who had moved like

_Like he knew his body as intimately as he knew his lovers', like he could make it do whatever he wanted, just like he could make hers do whatever he wanted because she, like all women, was helpless against his overwhelming-_

"Oh fa' Christ's  _sake_!" 

"You okay in there?"

"Ah'll be fine…" She says and she means it. She's packed away everyone else, she knows can get rid of this yahoo too. She just needs to concentrate. 

She curls her hand shut and the firebird dissipates. 

"Dominick?"

"Yeah?"

"How long has it been since th' fight ended?"

"About fifteen minutes."

_Fifteen minutes…_

Cody and Bruce were a nightmare to get rid of, it'd taken forever… but Remy had only been a few weeks, and  _that_  was her fault. She hadn’t wanted to let him go. Once she did though he went pretty quickly. Within a day of putting her foot down and actively blocking him, she hadn’t been seeing things through his eyes anymore, and by the end of the week she wasn't remembering his past and getting it confused with her own. Except for the whole  _lookit me ma I'm an acrobat!_  thing that popped up today, he'd been pretty much silent. 

_And now St. John…_

She looks at her reflection again and removes her towel. She sees only herself and not some heroine in a bodice-ripping novel. She smiles, relieved. St. John's taken a backseat for now, and in a few hours she'll have him locked in the trunk with everyone else.

_Ah only lost fifteen minutes…_

She can deal with fifteen minutes.

-/-

"Irene? Are you in here?"

The room is dark and still but she steps inside anyway. The curtains part with the breeze slipping in through the open window and she sees her with her head down on the desk beside it. There's a book under her cheek.

"Irene?"

The woman jumps and lifts her head. "Yes?" she asks suddenly alert.

"Hi… Ah'm Rogue."

"Oh yes…" Irene reaches out and turns on the table lamp filling the room with a warm glow. "I've been waiting to meet you for a long time." 

She blinks at her, surprised. She had pictured someone around Raven's age, but this woman has to be at least eighty…

"Please sit down. How are you feeling?" She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and Irene smiles at her. "I heard your training session yesterday went very well."

"Ah failed." 

"If you had failed you would be dead."

"Ah failed cuz Ah went in there intendin' ta win without mah power an Ah couldn' do it." 

"You hate it don’t you?" she says softly. "Your power?"

"Yes."

"I understand."

"Ah don't mean to be rude, ma'am, but Ah don't think so..."

"My powers aren't exactly enjoyable either, Rogue." Irene slides the book off the table and onto her lap. A pencil falls to the floor and she pauses a moment before leaning over to reach for it. Her hand sweeps past it completely, feeling the carpet for it and she gets up from the bed.

"Here…" She hands it to her and Irene smiles at her forehead as she takes it.

"Y’blind?"

"Yes."

"Did y’powers do that t'ya?"

"In a way… Did Mystique tell you what I can do?"

She shakes her head and stops.

"No… she just said it was time for me to meet you, or rather  _you_ had some time…"

"You see this book?" Irene places a hand on the volume lying in her lap, her fingers tracing the words burnt into the leather cover.

_Libris Veritorum. Volume Twelve._

"Yes…"

"When I developed my mutant powers I was overcome with images I didn’t understand. The only way I could cope with them was to write them down. For over a year I filled the pages of books like this one in an attempt to get them all out of my mind…"

"Did ya?"

She shakes her head. "Even after all these years… every once in a while they come again, like a tidal wave threatening to overwhelm me and sweep away all that I know… That's why I could not meet you earlier… I was... drowning." She sighs, but smiles tiredly, continuing, "When my powers first manifested I wrote day and night. I barely slept, I barely ate. My vision eventually deteriorated to nothing. The images were still coming to me but I could no longer write them down." Her hand slides across the tabletop and rests on a small tape recorder. "I record them now."

"What are they? Th' images?"

"They are visions of the future. Or rather many possible futures… Some of the things I've seen have already come to pass while others have not. What I do here with Raven's help is determine which of these futures is the most likely to occur, and which are the most… desirable to the cause. We try to mesh the two together if we can. I am almost always right when trying to determine the immediate future, but my long-range scanning of probabilities isn't always as exact, although I have learned to pinpoint certain factors which can lead us out of harm’s way or to a victory. Raven and I use these books and the tapes as a kind of guide to help us recognize these factors."

"So it's... kinna a crapshoot?"

"Yes, you could say that."

"That's gotta be frustratin'."

"It's very frustrating, but I do what I can to lead us in the right direction."

"Raven told me that you were the one who knew about me in Mississippi. She said y’told her where ta find me…"

"Yes… You're very important to us, Rogue."

"But why? Ah mean Raven told me that too but Ah don’t... Ah don't really understand…" 

Irene reaches out to the other books resting along the wall on the desk. Her fingers drift over the first few volumes before settling on the sixth and pulling it out. There's a red ribbon slipping over the top, marking a page. Irene opens it and shows it to her.

A sketch of a little girl huddled into herself, her arms hiding her face. A woman is there, reaching out to her. The woman is Raven. The girl… she has a white streak in her hair. 

"It's you, Rogue. I drew it long before you came into this world."

Irene flips to the next page and she is there again. She is fighting a woman in a mask… a suit with a bolt on it, a sash… her hands are on the woman's face, her own contorted in pain… She's huddled again, her hands clamped over her ears, tears streaming down her face…

Another drawing of her… an X on her uniform…

Irene pulls out another volume and hands it to her. Volume eight. Another red ribbon.

Another Raven, older, battle-worn. Another her.

And there is a man. A distinguished-looking man with long hair, holding an odd helmet. She turns the page and she's a little older and fighting at this man's side… The images are horrific, there is torture and death scrawled across the page but there is also a child… an innocent child… an extraordinary child… And there is another man… a man who looks achingly familiar…

Volume twelve. A green ribbon.

She is young. She is rolled into a ball on the floor and there is no one reaching out to her. She is alone.

She is older, she looks as she does now. She is standing beside Raven. And Pyro. And Avalanche.

"Raven is a constant, child… in every future of yours I have seen, she has been there beside you… And you trust her don’t you, Rogue? More than you have ever trusted anyone in your entire life…"

"Yes…" she whispers staring at Raven's image, at her hands resting on her shoulders.

" _This_  is why. You two were meant to be together. She was meant to be your guardian… But she is not the only one I have seen with you in my visions… There is someone else whose life is so entwined with yours that in every future he is there with you…" Irene turns back to the sixth volume lying open on the desk. She turns another page.

She is kissing a man. They are holding onto each other. They are frozen in glass. 

She is turning away from him, a burning Queen of Hearts falling from her fingertips.

He is pinned down to a slab, jewels set into his wrists and ankles, his heart.

A sword, pinning them together. Her cheek resting on his naked chest. No absorption, no life.

She looks down at the eighth volume lying open in her hands, at the man who had looked so familiar. He is standing in the shadows behind her, staring at her hand joined with another's.

Remy.

She is kissing Remy, she is leaving him behind, she is dying for him, she is with another but looking back at  _him_. 

She reaches out with trembling fingers and turns the page of the twelfth volume resting on Irene's lap.

They are kneeling on a dirty floor facing each other, he is binding her burnt hands. 

They are staring into each other's eyes. He is about to drape his coat over her shoulders. She is wearing his shirt. 

"We are your destiny, Rogue… In your future, there is always Raven. And there is always this man."

She tries to turn to the next page but Irene places her hand gently on top of hers. "No, child. I only showed you what I did to help you understand that you belong here with us, with Raven. Those other futures… knowing about them cannot hurt you because they will never happen now. They no longer exist. But here in this volume is a future that is possible..."

"Does somethin' bad happen to me?"

Irene shakes her head, squeezes her hand. "You've only appeared in these volumes in the places I've shown you. There is one more page in this one, but I cannot reveal it to you until it has already happened. You need to decide who you will become on your own."

"Y’already know who that is though dontcha? Y've "seen" it." 

"I'm not always right. One word from you and this may become obsolete."

"And y'not gonna gimme a hint if that word is yes or no?"

Irene smiles.

"I will not influence you in any way. It is purely your choice whether or not you will stand with us."

"Do Ah have ta give mah answer now?"

"No," Irene closes the book, holds it to her chest. "But I think you will come to a decision very soon."

"Can ya just tell me one thing?"

"It depends."

She takes a deep breath. She closes her eyes. 

"Will Ah see him again?"

Another smile.

"Yes."


	8. Pasiphae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [I've Been Thinking - Handsome Boy Modeling School feat. Cat Power](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-W5z4lmu9DA)  
> [Naked, If I Want To - Cat Power](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Z3gZv4V6iQ)_

Pink and orange spotlights crisscross and flicker cutting up the movements of the dancers who flail and writhe to a beat she can feel vibrating in her chest, pounding along with her heart.

He stands motionless in the ocean of undulating bodies alternately doused in Fahrenheit's signature colors and darkness. She watches him scan the crowd.

He hasn’t seen her yet.

She knows what will happen if she stays, if she lets him find her. She'll go to him and he’ll come to her and she'll want him more than she already does and it will just be… bad. 

She should really just go… just… stop this before it begins…

_But it's already begun…_

Before Irene had said a word she knew what the answer would be.

_Yes._

That last page may be a mystery but there are some things she knows for certain. 

She knows she _wants_ to see him again. 

She knows she wants _him_ and that she can't blame that want on the absorption anymore. His memories are gone but hers keep replaying themselves in her head - The first time she saw him, a hand buried in Deborah's hair, the other skimming her backside, the second time at the bar, smoke spilling slowly and quietly from his mouth like a secret. The last time, his eyes burning into hers and the heat of his body as he stood too close and she let him… 

She thinks of Irene's sketches, the one of the kiss, how desperately they had held onto each other. 

She's afraid of wanting someone that much. _Especially_ someone like him. A liar, a thief, a wolf. He is the last person anyone should give their trust, their heart to, and if she stays, if she lets herself fall into his eyes and his voice and his arms she'll do it. She'll do it because she won’t be able to help herself. She has seen proof of it and it terrifies her, it makes her heart pound, makes it hurt.

And when it hurts she cannonballs.

A spotlight slides over her and she quickly steps back into the shadows, still watching him search the darkness, filled with a longing she hasn’t felt since the night she watched Julia Bennett wave goodbye with tears in her eyes. 

She wonders if it's always been like this in every future, in every reality - fear and desire so tangled up in each other she doesn’t know which to obey.

Those other versions of herself… they had loved, they had _been_ loved-

_But none of it really happened. It wasn't really me kissin' Remy, holdin’ onta him like my world would fall ta pieces if Ah let him go… Ah'm not brave enough ta love like that…_

And he's not either. He doesn't believe in it anymore anyway - in love, in loving, in being loved. He believes in contact, in flesh, in sinking into someone and rocking against them until he forgets who he is. That's all he wants now, to forget and to feel, just for a moment, alive and electric and a part of somebody else. He doesn't care if it's not real. He doesn't want real. Real connection hurts and what comes after chewed him up and spit him out once before and like hell if he's going to be that vulnerable again. Better to just feel skin and nothing else…

She knows he believes it. 

_Then why are ya lookin' f'me?_

She knows he is. She knows it like she knew he'd be here tonight. She _feels_ it. And he feels her too. He knows she's here and he wants her to stay. 

_Ah can't give ya what ya want… ya know Ah can't Remy…_

His brow furrows, he's turning a circle now, searching, searching like he senses she's about to make a decision they'll both regret. His mouth opens and promptly shuts. He doesn't have a name to call out. She can feel his frustration, his confusion, and it echoes her own. He understands even less of this than she does but he's not running away from it. 

He's still looking. 

He doesn't want to lose her. 

And she doesn't want to _be_ lost. It's why she reaches for Raven, it's why she came here tonight. 

She wants to be found. 

She wants him to be the one to do it.

She decides that she doesn't care if it hurts. She's used to pain. He is too.

She takes a deep breath and steps out of the shadows.

He turns his head, he sees her.

His lips part, her breath catches.

She feels his gaze enveloping her, calling to her from across the room just like the first time as an arc of pink light sweeps over him, bathing his face in a neon blush. 

It bleeds into red and she moves. She goes to him.

She stops a breath away from touching. It's the closest she'll ever get and it hurts more than a fist, burns hotter than fire. He looks down at her, and she stares at her shoes.

"Hi."

"Hi."

She takes a deep breath, speaks to his chest.

"Ah'm gonna ask ya t'dance."

"I'm gon' say yes."

She doesn't move.

His hands slowly slip over her hips drawing her near and after a moment she rests hers lightly on his shoulders.

"What are ya doin' here?" 

"Waitin' for you."

"All night?"

"Every night."

The heat of his hands sink through her shirt and she arches into him to get away from it, to get more of it. He loops an arm around her waist in answer, holding her even closer.

"You come here lookin' f'me?" She doesn't answer. She stares at his throat, at the thin silver chain glistening against his skin and disappearing under his shirt. "I know y'been tinkin' 'bout me a' leas'." He brings a gloved hand to her cheek and lazily strokes her jaw as he speaks. He wants her to look at him so badly...

"Is that right…" she whispers into his palm, still unable to do it. 

"My shirt, _chere_ … it smell like you… like magnolias an' sunlight…"

Soft worn leather slides against her skin and she realizes he's wearing his old gloves, the ones he'd given to her when she'd ruined hers. The ones she'd returned with the shirt. 

_He must've gone back to th'subway car after all…_

She wonders if he saw the card crumpled up on the floor like trash.

"Did y’wear my shirt an tink o' me?" he whispers, "Cuz I hol' it an' tink o' you…"

His fingers slide into her hair and he tilts her head back oh so slowly… 

He's done this before, this very same move. 

She opens her eyes and stares right into his. They flicker, they burn.

"Why should Ah believe you?" 

"You wan' touch me 'gain an' see?"

"Ah wanna touch you again and _not_ see." 

She turns her face away, tries to step back, but his other hand stays on her hip, not ready to let her go yet.

"Don' do it, _chere_ … don' run ‘way from me 'gain…" 

She shakes her head as he comes closer, as he tries to draw her back into his arms. 

_This is so stupid… What did Ah think Ah was doin' comin' here, wantin' this when_

"It's no good. Ah can't… _we_ can't…"

"I don' care."

"Not _ever_ …"

"I don’ care."

"Stop _sayin’_ that! Of _course_ ya care! _I know you-_ "

"No, you don'. If y'really knew me, y'wouldn' be here righ’ now. Y'wouldn' be lookin' f'me. Y'wouldn' lemme hol' you… Mebbe you be scared a' me if you knew…" His hand falls to his side, releasing her. "I'm not a good man, _chere_."

"Ah'm not so great mahself, sugah."

"I killed a man."

"Ah killed two."

He blinks, frowns. "Wit y'power?"

"Yeah."

"Bit diff'rent, neh? After all y'couldn' help it."

"Maybe not th' first time but Ah knew exactly what Ah was doin' the second. Ah wanted him dead. Ah'm more of a killer than you are… You scared a' me?"

"I'm a lot o' tings 'bout you, _chere_ … Ain' got no room t'be scared."

"Ya should be, Remy. Ya know what Ah can do an' ya know Ah can't control it. Ya know Ah can't give ya what ya want so _why_ …" 

He carefully places his hand back on her hip, silencing her. He steps in closer and she doesn’t stop him, doesn't turn away. She never really wanted to in the first place.

His thumb lightly traces her lower lip and he whispers, "I can still feel you… Can you feel me?" 

She thinks about his hands burning into her back through her shirt as they danced, his fingers warm through her sweater as he stopped her from going the first time they'd spoken. 

She thinks of her green blouse, the one he'd told her in her mind that he liked, how she could feel every person that brushed up against her in the dark when she wore it that night…

_"Pasiphae was a woman who desired something she could not possibly have, and yet she found a way to get it… I find that… inspirational."_

_Ah can feel you, Remy…_

He searches her eyes, frowning slightly. She still hasn't answered

"D'y'even _want_ to, _chere_?" He honestly doesn't know…

It makes her want him even more.

"Ah'm still here ain't Ah?" she breathes against his fingertips, her hand reaching up to catch his. He kisses her gloved knuckles as she leads him off the floor.

-/-

She locks the door behind them and leans against it, the metal cold against her back and completely at odds with her burning skin and the warm colors of the gauze panels hanging down from the ceiling behind him.

She watches him watch her, his dark eyes smoldering as they travel the length of her body. 

He comes to her first this time, places his hands flat against the metal door on either side of her face.

"I'm gon' kiss you."

"Ah'm gonna let ya."

She slips out from under his arm as he moves to do it and slowly walks backwards to the other wall, keeping her eyes on his, asking him to follow. 

She sinks into the gauze, the layers upon layers making it soft as a pillow against her back. She slides her hand between the folds, looks at it through the sheer material, and suddenly his hand is there too pressing against it, palm over palm. 

He understands.

His nails lightly scratch down her fingers, her palm, as he curls his hand, fisting the gauze. He lifts it just high enough for her to step under, and it settles over her body, weightless, soft. She watches him through the pale pink veil, watches him come closer and she thinks of Cody like this, his face so close, his lips so close… 

She feels herself start to panic…

And then the sudden slow crush of his mouth against hers stealing her breath making her dizzy and weak-kneed.

He lifts his head the tiniest bit, their lips just barely touching through the thin, almost nonexistent material, and whispers, "Is dis okay?" She tilts her chin up for more in answer and his arms wrap around her, cocooning her in the gauze, his body pressed so tightly against hers she can't move, she can't breathe. All she can do is feel his hands on her, his mouth, his-

She pulls back slightly breathing hard. He kisses her eyes, her ears, her neck, whispers, "don' ask me t'stop, please, _chere_ , don' make me stop…"

"Remy…"

" _Chere_ …"

"Y'vibratin'." 

He stops, lifts his head.

" _Dat's_ never happened b'fore…" She feels it again and bites her lip. He grins at her and pulls the cell phone out of his pocket. 

She steps back to give him a moment and he quickly slips his free hand into the back pocket of her jeans, keeping their hips locked together. She laughs.

"Ah ain't goin' nowhere."

"Jus' makin' sure," he murmurs. 

He flips open the phone, keeping his eyes on hers as he speaks into it. "Dis Remy… Righ' now? … Well, yeah, I do go' someting better t'do s'matter a fac…" He looks at her mouth, meets her eyes and she blushes. "You de boss-man…" He flips the phone shut. 

"Ya hafta go."

"I don' want to. I'm 'fraid if I leave I never see you 'gain."

"Remy…"

"Tell me I'm gon' see you 'gain, _chere_. I don' wan dis t'be it."

She swallows. She doesn’t either. She wants more. 

Still, she can't bring herself to say it.

He leans forward, rests his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. 

"I'm gon' be here tomorrow. An' de night after dat, an' de night after dat 'til you come back t'me." 

He leans forward, kisses once more, slowly, deeply.

He opens his eyes. Flicker, burn.

And then he’s gone.

She steps out from under the gauze her knees trembling violently beneath her, and leans against the counter for support. She looks at her reflection, her hair messy from his touches, her skin flushed and glowing with heat from his kisses. 

_He wants ta see me again…_

She touches her mouth, smiles behind her fingers.

-/-

She goes back to her apartment and collapses on her mattress. Raven has given her her own room at the penthouse gorgeously decorated and furnished in different shades of green silk, complete with _La Belle Dame Sans Merci_ hanging above the bed, but she hasn’t slept there once. She goes there to relax after training sessions, to shower and change her clothes, but she doesn't really think of it as her room. She hasn’t done anything to earn it, and since she's not technically in The Brotherhood she feels bad taking advantage of the perks that come with membership. It's why she took the train back to Brooklyn tonight instead of walking those few blocks to the penthouse.

She stares at the cracked wall. Red lights flicker across it with the wail of an ambulance speeding down the street below her window. She hates this place. It's small and cramped and noisy and empty and cold. She's holding onto it for Deborah more than anything else, and she knows it's stupid to still be hoping she'll turn up after all this time, but she's afraid if she does leave she will. Raven understands this and against her wishes has been paying half the rent knowing she can't afford to keep the apartment on her own. 

She hates being indebted to anyone, but a part of her likes having Raven take care of her. It makes her feel safe.

She wonders if she should tell her about Remy.

But maybe she already knows. She must have seen the sketches in Irene's book…

_What would Ah even say anyway? Ah'm torturing mahself with a womanizing Cajun mutant who's so good at lying an' pretendin' ta be what other people want he probably don’t even know how he really feels about anythin' anymore let alone me…_

She thinks he only wants her because he can’t have her.

He came as close as he's ever going to get tonight and she wonders if he really is going to be at Fahrenheit tomorrow like he said. She wonders if she'll be there. She may need a few days to recover, her  heart is still racing two hours later, her skin is still buzzing. She can still feel his kisses deep down in her belly and lower making her shiver like fever…

She sighs and rolls over onto her back.

_Good luck gettin' any sleep t'night, girl._

Something sticks into the small of her back as she moves and she reaches a hand under herself to see what it is. Her fingers encounter something slick and slightly sharp-cornered stuck between her shirt and the waist of her jeans. She pulls it out.

A card.

Queen of Hearts again.

His phone number scrawled across it and the message, **_Can't say I ain't persistent._**

She laughs.

The phone rings.

She glances at the alarm clock on the floor as she reaches for it. 4:03 a.m. blinks back at her and she frowns,

"Hello?"

"Rogue-"

"Irene? Is somethin' wrong?"

"Turn on your TV."


	9. La Belle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Skin Against Skin - DJ Krush feat. Deborah Anderson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZNjAeVw4PEU)  
> [Wicked Game (live unplugged) - Chris Isaak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCfkqQ5O9mc)  
> [Everybody's Stalking - Badly Drawn Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D15NOlKyh-A)_

He's not on the floor this time. 

He's leaning against the wall next to the bar smoking a cigarette. The cherry pulsates as he takes a drag and gazes out into the neon-striped dark. He doesn't look at her as she comes up beside him even though she's so close she can smell the ghost of some unidentifiable cologne mingling with his skin underneath all the smoke and alcohol.

It's so good it makes her throat ache. 

He looks at the cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger, studies it like it's the most fascinating thing in the world and says, "S'been a week. Y'sure know how t'keep a man waitin', _chere_." 

"Ah'm sorry…" He takes a long drag and exhales a puff of smoke that tries to say _this is me not caring_ , but the forced nonchalance isn't fooling her and he knows it. "Remy…" She tentatively reaches out to him, slowly slides a hand under his jacket, over his heart. He still won't look at her. She hooks her fingers into the breast pocket of his shirt and gives it a little tug. "Don’t be mad at me."

"Ain't mad." 

"Then lookit me."

He drops the cigarette, crushes it under his boot and finally meets her eyes. The sulky droop to his mouth immediately straightens and he turns his body to hers, cups her elbows in his palms, his brow furrowing in concern.

She had intended to play the temptress, coy and sexy and irresistible. She borrowed a dress, a green she knew he'd like. She did her hair, made her eyes smokey, her lips glossy. She thought if she had the right costume she could play the part, shove aside her feelings and just do what needs to be done. 

She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

"What happen? You a’right?"

_Just stick to y' story - **Ah'm here now; Ah want you now**. It's as close to being truthful as y'gonna git t'night anyway…_

"Ah'm fine. Ah don’t wanna talk about it… Ah don’t wanna _think_ about it, Ah jus'…" She wraps her fingers around the collar of his duster, pulls him close, deliberately brushing her body up against his.

_"Chere-"_

"Remy…" _Please stop lookin' at me like that… like ya care… like ya worried… Ah jus need ya ta want me… Jus' want me Remy, don’t care..._ "Ah need a distraction…" 

"An dat'd be me would it?" He isn’t smiling. He's still concerned and maybe a little hurt that that's all she seems to want from him - a warm body, veiled kisses. She sees it in his eyes and her resolve begins to waver. She lets go of his collar.

He thinks she means to leave and gently squeezes her elbows. 

"Dat wadn't a complaint."

He smiles. He's hers.

Mystique knew he would be. 

_"He's not going to say no to you, Rogue. You're our only chance. Use him to get in there - play with him first if you like, I don't care, just get rid of them."_

Them.

The X-Men.

Remy threw a flaming card at Dominick. 

She saw it on the news an instant before the camera short-circuited and the feed went dead. Before that she saw Raven, her body a blue blur as it shot across the screen. A pulsing red beam of light had hit her square in the stomach. She saw that too. And a familiar black woman with white hair shaping a tornado in her hands before sending it after St. John who was spewing flame at a man who seemed to be made of glass.

The anchorman had been astounded. Snow fizzed on the square above his shoulder and he had sat there blinking, mouth open in an almost comical gape. The telephone had been pressed against her ear so tightly her teeth had ached, and she had been able to hear the tinny echo of his halting voice coming from Irene's TV on the other end of the line as she watched them replay the footage over and over again…

_"If you are just joining us now, an attack has been made on a government storage facility…"_

_(St. John swept off his feet, pinwheels of flame spiralling after him)_

_"The assailants are unknown at this time…"_

_(Mystique flung up against a wall so hard it cracks)_

_"…looking into the possibility of a hoax…"_

_(Pink crackling joker whizzing past the screen and Dominick's face an instant before it hits)_

_"…five guards dead, three wounded, one in critical condition…"_

_(Fizzzzzzzzzzz )_

The Brotherhood had received information that a shipment of mutant tracking devices had been delivered to a "storage" facility just outside of DC. They had gone to destroy them.

_"We found hostages." Mystique's eyes are hard and surrounded by bruises, blood. "Men, Women, and children test subjects - they were being used as lab rats for a demo to be given tomorrow for investors. We released them and they were running to get free and the guards started shooting…_

_St. John furiously flicks his lighter open and shut, open and shut._

_"Bastards deserved everything they got!"_

_Dominick's tanned face is deathly pale as he peels his half-melted uniform away from his burnt skin._

_Mystique comes to her, puts her hands on her shoulders, looks deep into her eyes._

_"We need your help, Rogue. You know him…"_

_"Ah don't understand-"_

_"The one called Gambit. The one in Irene's visions, Rogue. The one with you."_

_"You know that asshole?" Dominick wheezes, blinks at her in disbelief._

_"Yes, she does. And we can use it. Does he trust you, Rogue?"_

_"Mystique what's goin' on, who were those people?"_

_"They call themselves X-Men. We believe they work for the government, a kind of strike force to keep groups like us in line. They're terrorists, Rogue."_

_"No… there's gotta be some sorta mistake…"_

_"Rogue," Irene speaks quietly from where she sits beside the flickering television sets, each screen frozen on a different image from the news footage. A bolt of lightning guided by a white-gloved hand. A man with a stream of red light shooting from his visor._

_Remy in profile, the collar of his duster obscuring most of his face but not his eyes. They glow like the card in his hand._

_"It's time for you to make your choice."_

"Can we go somewhere?" She closes her eyes as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear and nods, his voice soft, low. 

"Yeah… yeah, _chere,_ we go wherever you wan'."

_"We need you, Rogue…"_

"Ah wanna go home with ya. Wherever that is - subway car, motel room Ah don't care…" 

_"… We're depending on you…"_

She bites her lip at his hesitation, puts her hands back under his coat. He sucks in his breath.

"Okay. Les… les g'outta here…"

-/-

"Wait here a momen’ - jus wan' make sure de coast is clear…"

"Is there a problem?"

"Guests ain' really allowed."

"Ah don't wanna git ya in trouble…"

"I like trouble." He grins at her in the darkness, squeezes her hand once. He hasn't let go of it since they parked the bike and he led her up the back path to the mansion. "Most likely everyone's sleepin'. S'been a long week…"

_Tell me about it…_

"I be right back." He slips inside leaving her alone on the back porch. She stays close to the wall, careful not to be in view of any of the windows. The mansion is huge. She wonders how many bedrooms there are, how many people inside sleeping, dreaming, completely unaware tha-

"S'all good, _chere_." He holds the door open for her, takes her hand again as they quietly make their way up a flight of stairs. He leads her down a long hallway past door after door until they reach the last one on the left. 

He flips on a small lamp that fills the room with a soft warm glow, and she takes in the Moroccan rug lying before the large stone fireplace, the mahogany sleigh bed and rumpled scarlet sheets with a low whistle.

"Nice…" 

He runs a hand through his hair giving the place a once over with a casual shrug that belies how pleased he is to have her approval. "Dunno how I winded up wit digs like dis… been a long time since I even had m'own bed… Woulda been pleased wit jus dat, but yeah. Dis'll do…" He turns his back on her trying to smooth out the sheets, and she shrugs off her jacket, shivering a little as the air touches her bare skin. He makes a move to sit on the edge of the bed but freezes when he sees her. She can’t read his face at all and she swallows uncertainly.

"Y'don’t… y'don't like it?" It's Raven's dress. A sea-green sheath with two thin straps slipping over her shoulders and stretching down to an almost indecently low scoop of fabric at the small of her back. 

No jewelry. Just skin and the gauzy material of a barely there dress.

"Ouch, _chere_ …" he murmurs coming towards her slowly, carefully, his eyes travelling the length of her body as he circles her and stops at her back. His fingers lightly hook the straps of her dress and slide up and down them once, twice, his knuckles almost grazing her shoulder blades, his breath warm at the nape of her neck. 

She closes her eyes. 

"Remy…"

_"He won’t be able to resist you… you won’t have to do a thing… just let him touch you…"_

"Iss'okay," he says softly. "I'm covered." He slips off his coat, shows her his long sleeves, his gloves. 

_"…just let him touch you…"_

She gives him her jacket and he hangs it up with his in the closet. His things from the subway car are on the floor inside, his clothes in a duffle beneath the skeletal canopy of empty hangers. The only sign of any kind of commitment to his surroundings is the boom box plugged into the wall and a few cds stacked up on the floor beside it. 

"Y’not plannin' on stayin'?" she asks nodding at the stuff, and he shrugs.

"I got a frien', she tol' me I have a place at dis school but I don' 'xactly play well wit others and dat's what dere big on here so… we'll see. I haven' officially 'enrolled' yet."

"So y'jus' here for th'room?"

"An' Stormy."

"'Stormy?" An image of the black woman with the white hair flashes through her mind… She's smiling at Remy, handing him a card… _Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters…_

"M'frien."

"Oh… right. Is she, uh… a student here?"

"Yeah."

"Have ya known each other long?" 

"No." He grins.

"What?"

"What's wit de questions, _chere_? You jealous?" 

She snorts inelegantly.

"It'd be stupid o' me ta git jealous of all th'women in y'life."

"An why's dat?"

"Ah'd drive mah'self crazy. Y’kinna a slut, Remy."

A slow smile eases across his lips.

"So reform me."

"Like anyone _could_."

He reaches out and lazily traces the neckline of her dress with the tip of his finger, says almost to himself, "Dere was someone once…" and she remembers her now, a girl with soft blonde hair and impossibly blue eyes gazing up at him flushed, lips parted, gasping… 

He pauses at the dip of fabric between her breasts.

"Belladonna," she murmurs. 

He blinks.

"You loved her."

His hand drops to his side. 

"I don' like dis. You get t'know ever'ting 'bout me an' I don' even get y'name…"

"Ah don't know everythin', Ah jus'… Ah saw her in y'head once. You were happy-"

"Ancient hist'ry, _chere_. M'much more innerested in de here an' now."

"She broke y'heart, Remy…"

"It happens."

They're quiet for a moment, looking at each other. She drops her eyes first and he reaches out again, runs his fingers through her hair, making more and more of it fall out of the chignon at the back of her neck. 

"I don' wan' talk 'bout me. I wan' talk 'bout you."

"Me..."

"I wan' know you. I wan' know why those eyes so sad, wan' know what makes y'smile, what's important to you, what y'hate, what y'love…" His fingers slide through her hair one last time, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder, his thumb following the line her collar bone back and forth, back and forth. 

_"…you won't be doing anything to him he doesn’t want…"_

_"He doesn’t want to be in a coma, Raven."_

_"He wants you to touch him. You know he does, you've seen it in his eyes… don't be afraid, Rogue… this is supposed to happen…"_

_"Irene…?"_

_Irene turns off the TVs. Gambit disappears._

_"They have to be stopped," is all she says._

"Ah love dancin' with ya," she whispers and he smiles, gently, softly.

"We can do dat... We can dance all night if you wan'…" He picks up the boom box and sets it on the table with the lamp. He shoves his sleeves up as he reaches for the cds and shuffles through them. She watches him trying to find the perfect song and her heart hurts. 

He finds what he's looking for and pops it in. He turns back to her with open arms and her eyes catch on the phone numbers scribbled around his wrist and up the inside of his forearm in faded electric blue and smudgy black ink. Names like Stephanie, Jodi, Carol, and Jessie hover hopefully above their respective digits, and she wants suddenly to run her tongue over that expanse of flesh, wrist to elbow, and lick them out of existence. 

He notices her looking at the numbers and pushes his shirtsleeves down. He draws her near, presses their names against her hip. 

"Didn' call any o' dem," he says into her hair, and his hands rest flat against her back, light as gossamer, ready to be gone if it's what she wants. "It's all y'fault. Y'power… it be workin' both ways, _chere_ … I can’t get you outta my head. Ever since de night we met I been dreamin' 'bout you, 'tinkin' 'bout you, an' den dere you were like magic… an' den dere _we_ were… I been dreamin' 'bout dat too…"

She closes her eyes as his gloved hand slides up and down her back in a light caress that makes her knees shake, her heart pound. She rests her head on his shoulder, tries to pretend that there's no such thing as loyalty, no such thing as duty, right or wrong, friends or enemies… 

There's only her and Remy slowly dancing in the lamplight.

And nothing else needs to happen, not yet… not yet…

His fingertips dip below the swath of fabric at the small of her back.

They travel upwards, they disrupt one of the straps.

It slips off her shoulder and he pauses. She makes no move to put it back.

He slides the second strap down. She lets him do it.

They stop dancing.

She keeps her head on his shoulder and wordlessly lowers her arms.

The dress falls in a puddle at her feet and he holds her close and they sway, they rock against each other, and the rest of the earth is quiet and still, no movement but theirs, no sound but the music and their hearts beating together, and it's not real and it can't last and she hates herself for doing this, for pretending it is, pretending it can…

"I wan' tell y'somethin'."  She lifts her head from his shoulder, meets his eyes.  "I ain' never love no one b'fore Belle, an I… I ain never love no one since but when I look at you…" He swallows, closes his eyes. He whispers, "I'll give you m'heart if you wan' it. It ain' pretty, iss been busted up, broken in pieces, but iss all I have…"

"Remy…"

"An I know it ain' good enough, I know _I_ ain' good enough… I know you seen some bad tings inside o' me, I know you tink I'm a liar… But I'm not. Not dis time. Not wit you."

She holds a finger up to his lips…

a breath away from a touch…

She leads him to the bed, closes her eyes as the weight of his body settles on hers and he says so softly she can barely hear him, "D'you b'lieve me?" and she can't answer because she has no words, and he mistakes her silence for a "no" and he says the most wonderful and horrible thing he could possibly say in this moment when they're so close, so dangerously close... 

"If y'touch me now, if y'get inside m'head, m'heart, I swear all you'll see is you. If dat's de only way I can prove t'you… I wan' y'to do it."

_"It's time for you to make your choice."_

She brushes his hair away from his face, carefully, so carefully.

She looks into his eyes.

She whispers "Ah don't hafta t'touch you. Ah believe you, Remy… Ah don’t hafta touch you…" 

And Raven will be disappointed in her. 

And Dominick will hate her. 

And St. John will burn something and say, _"I fuckin' knew it."_

And she doesn't care.

_I'm sorry Raven._

He reaches out with one hand to open the drawer beside the bed and pulls out a panel of gauze from Fahrenheit.

"Y'went back an' stole that?"

"’Course."

"A little presumptuous ain't ya?" 

"You de one dat brought us to de bed…"

He lifts his body off of hers just enough to drape the gauze over her naked skin, his breath catching as he gazes down at her and she blushes, looking away. He cups her cheek in the palm of his hand, making her look at him. 

He says _"beautiful"_.She says _"kiss me."_

The veil settles over her face and his mouth is on hers warm and soft and agonizingly far away.

He murmurs between kisses, "Tell me when y'need me t'stop…" 

She whispers, "Take off the gloves". 

The star-shaped callouses on his palms slide up and down her hips dragging the gauze along with them until her bare legs tangle with his, the rough fabric of his jeans lightly scraping her thighs. She's dreamt of this, of feeling this, of having him like this. Soft and hard, rough and smooth. Really him, really here…

Irene will understand why she couldn’t do it. Irene knows what they are to each other. She's seen them like this in so many different worlds… why should this one be any different…

She closes her eyes as his fingers trail down her belly. She bites her lip. He nips her shoulder. 

The gauze slips away from her face...

_Wait…_

and then slips away from her completely…

_Remy…_

a crushed pink tangle lost in the scarlet sheets…

"Stop…"

His lips come crashing down on hers and there's nothing between them anymore and just before the darkness overwhelms her she thinks of that last page marked with the green ribbon in Volume Twelve and Raven's voice saying, _"Don't be afraid, Rogue… this is supposed to happen…"_


	10. Gambit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [The Line - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tF0XRT-biCE)  
> [I Only Have Eyes For You - The Flamingos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1_urvud-Oi0)_

_"Chere, when you be a big boy you come back t'ol Lucy and she teach you some tings…"_

_He grins at the pretty lady with the pretty red lips and says, "When I a "big boy" maybe I teach_ you _some tings…" and she laughs and laughs and pinches his cheek, disrupting the sunglasses already precariously teetering on the bridge of his nose. They're too big. The girl he'd stolen them from had a big head._

_Her laughter abruptly cuts off and she blinks at him as he quickly pushes them back up, covering his eyes again._

_She takes her hand back. It makes him sad. Lucy won’t smile when she sees him coming anymore, won’t point out which of her customer's pants jingled the loudest when they hit the floor._

_"How come I never see you wit out dose tings, ma petite?"_

_"Cuz I need 'em - you dazzlin'."_

_She laughs again, but it's forced and he shoves his hands into his full pockets, kicks at the ground. He doesn't need Lucy to point out the rich ones anyway. He can see them coming a mile off._

_Like dat one dere… Dat homme got someting good…_

_He watches the man make his way down the crowded sidewalk. His suit isn’t flashy, his stride not overly confident, but his hand keeps sweeping against his right pocket._

_No bulge._

_Whatever it is it's small._

_He's already filled his quota for the day.Fagan will be satisfied with what he's got. He could just go back early…_

_But where's de fun in dat?_

_"Be seein' ya, Lucy…"_

_"Rem-"_

_He's already after him, ducking under elbows, squirming around hips. The man's suit coat flips up for a second and he doesn't slow down once as he slips his hand inside and…_

_Fingers wrap around his wrist._

_They hold on tight._

_What de fuck?_

_That's not supposed to happen._

_He never gets caught._

_Ever._

_"Sorry m'sieur! I tought you be my poppa-"_

_The man looks down at him, doesn’t loosen his hold._

_"Show me what y'got."_

_Fuck._

_He slowly uncurls his fist._

_A quarter._

_The man crouches down beside him, lets go of his wrist. He reaches out, places his index finger on the bridge of the sunglasses and pushes them down. Black on red flickers up at him._

_"Hallo, Remy."_

_"Who de fuck are you?"_

_The man holds out his hand._

_A pocket watch swings back and forth in front of his nose._

_His hand flies to his own pocket._

_The watch he stole this morning is gone._

_Back and forth, back and forth. Tick, tick, tick, tick…_

_He smiles up at the man, holds out the quarter._

_"Trade back?"_

**_BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM_ **

_"Remy?!"_

_"Stay 'way from me, Henri!"_

_"What de hell you do, Remy?!"_

_Hands glowing, glowing._

_Don' touch nothin'…jus don' touch nothin'…_

_"I'm gon' get poppa!"_

_Don' leave me, Henri… don' leave me… I don' know wass happenin'…_

_Blinding pain behind his eyes…_

_Searing…_

_Sizzling…_

_"FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!"_

_"What you lookin' at?" She puts her hands on her hips, one foot resting on the man's back. He's out cold._

_He looks down at his handful of glowing pebbles._

_Okay, Concentrate, Remy…_

_He focuses on where the rocks are touching his skin and pulls now instead of pushing._

_He looks down at his hands. The rocks are grey again. He tosses them away._

_"I tought I be savin' you, chere… but looks like you don' need Remy's help…"_

_She kicks the man, mutters, "perv."_

_She picks up her backpack. Her arm gets tangled in the strap and he helps her. She yanks her arm away once it's through, "I don' need help from no boy-" and steps back stumbling over the man still lying unconscious behind her. He reaches out and catches her before she falls._

_Bright blue eyes glaring up at his. Pale pink lips screwed up in a scowl._

_She's the most beautiful girl he's ever seen._

_He drops her._

_She lands with an undignified thump._

_"Hey!"_

_"You said you don' need no help."_

_She sits there stunned for a moment then bursts out laughing._

_It's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard._

_"What de hell is he doin' here?"_

_Belle rolls her eyes. "We playin' a game."_

_"He a Thief!"_

_"Damn good one too," he murmurs peeking up at Julien from over his cards. "I'd say pull up some floor but dis a private game, non? Chere, you forgot t'tell me what I lose."_

_"Ummmm… how bout y'shades."_

_Julien stalks out of the bedroom. "I'm gon' tell!"_

_"Go 'head!" Belle sticks her tongue out at her brother's retreating back. "Poppa not home anyway…" She holds her hand out to him. "Givum here, bayou breath."_

_He pauses._

_"'M waitin.'"_

_She gon' tink I'm a freak… She gon'-_

_"Remy, you made me take off my bra!"_

_"Fine, fine, fine…" He whips them off his face and tosses them onto the pile._

_He keeps his head down, studies his fanned out cards._

_"Remy."_

_"What."_

_"Lookit me."_

_"Non."_

_"I wan' see if it true."_

_He doesn't say a word as she drops her cards and crawls over to him. She sits on her heels, her knees just touching his._

_"I heard dey call you le diable…"_

_"Blanc. Le diable blanc."_

_"So show me why."_

_"Belle…"_

_"I ain' gon' be scared."_

_"You ain' gon' like me no more."_

_"Who said ever I did?"_

_He snorts._

_"Please, chere - you know you wan' me."_

_"Yeah - t'get over y'self!" She punches his shoulder and laughs. He doesn't. She says quietly, "I ain' gon' run from y'Remy."_

_He takes a deep breath. He lifts his head, he meets her eyes._

_They widen._

_"Holy shit…"_

_She grins._

_"Dat is de cooles' ting I ever seen..."_

_"You goin' t'Paris wit Etienne and Henri."_

_"What de fuck for?!"_

_"Time f'you boys t'earn y'place in de guild…"_

_"So I be back in a year…"_

_"Cool."_

_He sighs._

_"You gon' miss me at all, chere?"_

_She studies her nails thinking about it. He collapses back against the pillows in mock despair and she laughs climbing on top of him. She kisses his nose._

_"What happen t'y'chere?"_

_She shrugs, those blue eyes cold as glaciers._

_"I grew up, Remy. When you were gone I realized dat we can't be nothin'."_

_"You been talkin' t'Julien."_

_"I been learnin' ‘bout my place in dis worl'. I'm an Assassin. You a Thief. We not even s'posed t'be talkin' t'each other. It was diff'rent when we was kids… we weren' really part of tings but now…"_

_"Belle…"_

_"Remy, I know you weren' faithful t'me in Paris."_

_"Dat had not'ing t'do wit us… I ha-"_

_"I ain' mad, Remy. I don' care…"_

_He'd managed to slip a note into her pocket yesterday morning when he saw her leaving church with her poppa. He'd missed services himself. He'd stayed up late the night before helping Henri work up the nerve to visit Lucy. He'd entertained himself with Maya who insisted it was on the house while he waited. They only had sex twice. He'd spent the rest of the night telling her about Belle._

_He's still shocked she actually came._

_They float beside each other in the sun, their bodies slide together and he finds her hand, holds onto it. She turns her face to his._

_I knew it… I knew you been tinkin' 'bout me too…_

_She dunks him._

_He comes up sputtering and she giggles and it's been so long since he heard that sound… She's become so cold this last year…_

_She's become an Assassin._

_She throws her head back, her throat long and white as she laughs and laughs and laughs._

_Dis is Belle. Dis is m'heart, m'love…_

_He swims towards her and she slips out of his grasp. His hands slide along her body under the water._

_He catches her._

_He thinks she let him do it._

_She kisses him. She runs her fingers through his hair, slides a leg between his. His arms lock around her waist and she opens her mouth the slightest bit in invitation and he takes it. He moans her name and she nips the underside of his jaw, snakes her hand between them._

_He doesn't know when they climbed out of the water, but suddenly they're on dry land and naked as the morning._

_"I've missed you so much, Remy…"_

_She wraps her legs around him and just as he pushes inside her for the first time she murmurs, "We shouldn' be doin' dis… I shouldn'…"_

_"You didn' come yesterday."_

_"I know. Sorry."_

_She doesn’t say anything else. She just stands there with him in the alley while "I Only Have Eyes For You" plays on a jukebox across the street and it occurs to him that they've never danced. In all the years they've known each other…_

_He reaches out to her, places his hand on her hip. She steps back._

_"Don't."_

_"It wasn' a mistake, chere."_

_"It was."_

_"You love me."_

_"Remy."_

_"Iss okay, Belle… I love you too." He comes to her again, rests his head on her shoulder, breathes her in. "I would leave everyting f'you," he murmurs against her skin. "De guild, Jean Luc, Henri… You say de word an' we be gone…"_

_"You get tired of me…"_

_"Never, Belle, never."_

_"I can't leave, Remy. They gon' give me de power… Candra say I have potential t'become de next leader… I turn 18 in a few days an den she give me-"_

_"Belle, it don' matter, none of it-"_

_"It does to me."_

_He rolls out of his bed and onto the floor just as the knives whistle over his head and embed themselves into his pillow._

_"You a coward, Julien, t'attack me in m'own home while I sleep…" He is answered with silence, but he can feel him in the shadows, waiting. "Assassins and Thieves… we both big on honor… but it looks like you have none…"_

_He shifts his shoulder to the right as another blade comes flying past. The windows clap open and he sees a black figure leap out. He doesn't bother going after him. He turns his head to the dagger stuck in his wall. Pinned underneath it is a note._

**_Tomorrow._ **

**_Sundown._ **

_What, we cowboys now?_

_The blades slice through the air, clinging and clanging like music. Julien is no match for him. He dances out of the way easily trying not to laugh as he becomes more and more enraged._

_"Julien, stop dis-"_

_"You fucked my sister!"_

_"We belong together, homme. We love each other-"_

_"You don' love shit! I saw you wit dat girl - not twenty-four hours since you had Belle and you already foun' another! She hates you now! She wan' dis done!"_

_Cling._

_"No."_

_Clang_

_"Why else would she have tol' me you fuck her, LeBeau? She knew dis would happen!"_

_Slice._

_Merde!_

_Burning pain in his shoulder…_

_He switches hands._

_Julien charges again._

_"She wan' you dead, Thief!"_

_It's over in the blink of an eye and he stands there, his sword dripping with blood._

_"You have t'leave de guild, Remy… De Assassins will start a war if you stay… an' de Thieves… dey wan' you out too… She told dem all dat you would leave dem for her… Dey wan' no part of you no more… dey call you a traitor…de only reason you ain' beggin' for y'life right now is poppa did it for ya…"_

_"I never meant for it t'happen…"_

_She whips around, eyes blazing with a burst of power. It slams into his chest from her outstretched hand, sends him crashing into a headstone._

_"You lucky Jean Luc has de kinna power he does. If it were up t'me I'd kill you m'self, so you best leave now b'fore I do someting I won' regret."_

_The ice in her voice pierces his heart, makes it burn._

_"Belle… please-"_

_"I don' wan' see you ever agin', LeBeau. You ain' nothin' t'me. You never was…"_

_He watches her go. She doesn't look back._

_New streets, new smells, new woman to fuck, new pockets to empty._

_He spends a night here, a night there…_

_He listens to the sssshhhh of the shower as he lays on Mary's(?) bed. The sheets stick to his skin with sweat and he thinks about joining her in the bathroom. She's a nice girl. She was shy and sweet and said "I've never done this before… picked a guy up at a bar… " He smiled, kissed her hand and did everything she asked plus some things she hadn't thought of. He wasn't going to charge her. She has blue eyes, blond hair. Freckles at the nape of her neck that made his throat tighten as he kissed his way across her shoulders and down her spine…_

_A low throb starts up in his temples._

_A steady drumbeat behind his eyes._

_Pulse, pulse, throb, throb._

_Sizzle sizzle._

_What de fuck…._

_No…_

_Stop…_

_Shit no no no no no_

_The sheets glow._

_Margaret(?) sings in the shower…_

_"Are the stars out tonight… I don’t know if it's cloudy or bright…"_

_Black spots black spots dotting his vision…_

_"I only have eyes for you…"_

_The sheets begin to burn…_

_Pull it back pull it back…_

_He stumbles off the bed, falls to his knees._

_The carpet starts to smoke…_

_Get up! Get up!_

_He slams his hand down on the night table, hoisting himself up._

_"Sh'bop sh'bop."_

**_BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM_ **

_He hasn’t slept in days. He sits in an abandoned theatre with his elbows resting on his knees his arms straight out. He watches his hands as they flare up every once in a while, spurts of power with no release that come shooting back up his arms and into his brain, exploding there because they can't explode anywhere else._

_He doesn’t remember how he got here._

_The last thing he remembers is Mona(?) screaming at him and the sprinkler system going off._

_He wears nothing but his boxers. He's afraid to drape one of the torn velvet curtains over his body for warmth because he knows, he just knows, his power is waiting for him to do it, to touch something solid._

_He is alone. His heart, his head, his body howls in pain._

_If he wasn't so damn cold he'd swear he was in hell._

_Because a devil stands before him. A devil with pale skin tinged a deathly blue that makes him remember Etienne when he pulled him out of the Seine._

_It smiles a mouthful of needles, and its voice is something slimy and parasitic._

_It says, "I can help you… I can make it all go away…"_

_And he says "please…" because he's so tired… so tired… "I'd sell m'soul to make dis stop…"_

_Blue eyes._

_Not hard and cerulean… blue like the clearest sky… kind. A hand on his face, brushing back his hair. "Do not be afraid, you are safe…" clipped accent, soft voice, café au lait skin and hair like a cloud swirling around her face as wind pours in from the hole in the wall of the laboratory._

_"M'I dead?"_

_Soft smile._

_"No."_

_"You sure you ain' an angel?"_

_"I am very sure."_

_His head swims with painkillers as he leans against the beautiful stranger. The laboratory is in shambles. He doesn't ask what happened to Essex._

_Alone again in the city, headaches gone, his powers back under control. He keeps the card Stormy gave him but doesn't call. He tells himself he doesn't want to be a part of anything again, that he's had enough of it._

_Alone is best. There's no one to disappoint, to hurt. To lose._

_Still, she said I'd have m'own room…_

_Tempting…_

_He fingers the worn edges of the card._

_Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters._

_S'lotta hoops t'jump tru for a bed…_

_Well, a bed and Stormy…_

_Very tempting…_

_A pretty brunette smiles slyly up at him from under her eyelashes. She reaches out to slide her hand down his chest as the boy she's with writhes against her completely oblivious that he's lost her attention._

_He winks at her. He's gotten over wearing sunglasses in front of people. He can always pass his eyes off as contacts in clubs like this. Most girls like them now anyway, they find them sexy, mysterious._

_He crooks a finger at her that says, "follow me" and she does. He backs her into a corner near the stage, presses her up against the vibrating speakers and she giggles._

_They dance, they kiss._

_The girl's got busy hands and it's nice, it's good. He curls a fist into her hair, runs his tongue down her neck. She unzips his pants as he smiles at a redhead dancing nearby._

_He feels eyes._

_Someone's watching, staring._

_She slips her hand inside his pants. He searches the crowd…_

_Green eyes._

_He locks onto them, pleased when they don't look away._

_Come here…_

_Her breasts rise in a quick intake of breath and he smiles._

_Come here…_

_The brunette gets him off. He closes his eyes, rides out the sensation. When he opens them again the other girl is gone._

_Someone is watching him again._

_Someone is tracing the contours of his face with their eyes, focusing on his lips…_

_He smiles._

_He looks up._

_It's her…_

_Mon Dieu…_

_He thought she was beautiful before, but seeing her up close…_

_She's breathtaking._

_"Your name…"_

_He watches her go. He doesn’t want her to. He's already moving before the door swings shut._

_"Chere-"_

_Skin like suede and then darkness…_

_He pulls his shirt up over her shoulders and buttons the buttons for her. His hands are shaking but he's not afraid of her skin, how close it is, he's not afraid…_

_He stares into her eyes… gorgeous green eyes… saddest eyes he's ever seen._

_He wants to kiss those eyes, her nose, her lips._

_She blushes. She's heartbreaking._

_"Your name, chere…"_

_He thought he saw her at Fahrenheit last night._

_He messed around with a girl even though she wasn't the right one, and then went back to the subway car because for some stupid reason he thought she might be there like last time._

_All he found was the shirt and gloves._

_His card._

_She don' wan' me…_

_Why should she? De only ting I good for I can’t give her anyway…_

_But he keeps going back to the club, keeps looking._

_And then one night he feels her._

_He turns his head and finds those eyes again…_

_She comes to him and she lets him hold her and she lets him kiss her and as he gazes down at her through the gauze, at her upturned face and parted lips, he can't remember the last time he has wanted someone so much._

_He hasn't felt like this since Belle._

_He stares into her eyes, completely and utterly at a loss as to why this girl has such a hold on him. He doesn’t know a thing about her. He doesn't even know her name, but when he closes his eyes at night she's always there… Every night since the first time he saw her watching him from across the room she's been there in his dreams…_

_She's haunting him..._

_"Tell me I'm gon' see you 'gain, chere. I don' wan dis t'be it." He tries not to sound desperate, tries not to let her know how scared he is she'll say no…_

_She doesn't._

_But she doesn't say yes either._

_It crosses his mind that he's been in this position before._

_He returns to the club again and again. He waits for her. She doesn't come._

_He doesn’t touch anyone. He doesn’t want to._

_Witchcraft…_

_She put a spell on me…_

_She doesn't come._

_The girl…_

_Chere!_

_The girl at a café warming her hands around a coffee cup. He watches her through the window. She takes a cautious sip, licks a smear of whipped cream from her upper lip. His reflection smiles at him in the glass. He forgets the humiliation of being stood up night after night and smoothes his hair down, tries to make himself look presentable before going in._

_What de fuck…_

_That punk from the raid on the warehouse is there…_

_Avalanche._

_He sits down beside her, leans in close to her, speaking to her. She shakes her head. She looks like she's going to cry._

_He puts his hand over hers on the table. She looks up into his eyes. He speaks again. She looks away._

_She nods and his throat is tight, he feels sick._

_She can't be workin' wit dem… she can't…_

_"Don't be mad at me."_

_He doesn't look at her. He doesn't trust this, her hand over his heart, her soft voice. He knows this game. He's better at it than anyone._

_But then he meets her eyes and sees how upset she is, and he thinks maybe she's here because she really does need him. Maybe she's here for protection. Maybe she's not working for the Brotherhood after all…_

_She wasn' dere dat night…_

_Green eyes so desperate so sad. They say I need you, Remy… They say take me away from all of this…_

_And he does._

_He takes a chance on her._

_Long-limbed and white-skinned, an angel, a devil, beauty beyond anything he's ever seen…_

_Yards of skin… her hair up, neck exposed and begging to be kissed and kissed and kissed…_

_She is soft, her seduction awkward, innocent…_

_But it's not._

_And he's not going to fall for it._

_As much as he wants to take off his gloves, his shirt, and feel that warm smoothness against him he's not going to._

_She's here because of the Brotherhood._

_The second she took off her jacket he knew._

_The last time he had seen her so uncovered it had been an accident. The whole time he had been bandaging her hands she had been painfully tense, so afraid of him touching her skin._

_But now…_

_She's not afraid now._

_She wants him to do it._

_It's like a sucker punch to the gut, and he can hardly breathe._

_She wants him to do it, to touch her, to spill the secrets of the X-men into her head..._

_It's de only ting dat makes sense… de only reason why she would be temptin' me like dis…_

_He almost laughs because the X-Men don’t trust him with anything that could be useful to the enemy. They tolerate him because he's good in a fight and because Ororo has vouched for him, sees good in him, potential. They don’t trust him. The Brotherhood isn't going to get anything out of him that they don't already know._

_He wants to tell her this, to call her out. He wants to tell her to stop pretending._

_But where's de fun in dat…_

_He takes her coat._

_You wan' play? Let's play._

_He teases her, runs his fingers through her hair just like the first time they were this close and he wonders how far back it goes. If this was always a part of the plan… get him interested, entice him with sudden appearances and disappearances, make him want more... get him to the point where he would be willing to break the rules and bring her here…_

_You don' know her at all. Y'never did… But she know you, LeBeau. She seen inside you. She know your weaknesses…_

_Damsels in distress._

_She can't look him the eye._

_It gives him hope._

_It makes him think maybe she doesn’t really want to do this._

_He says, "I wan' talk 'bout you, I wan' know you…"_

_He thinks, Jus' tell me why you really here, chere… tell me dis ain' you, dat you don' wan' do dis an I believe you… I help you get away from dem…_

_Tell me you don' wan' me t'touch you…_

_She doesn't._

_But he's not ready to give up yet._

_"We can dance all night if you wan'…"_

_He slips her dress off her shoulders, upping the stakes. She's naked in his arms as they dance but she still doesn't pull away, still doesn't say “be careful”…_

_He's desperate, he lies, he says I could love you and it's not as easy as it's been in the past because he thinks a small part of him might mean it…_

_And he doesn't want to mean it because it would just be too sad and pathetic that once again he's a mess over some a woman who does not love him back._

_They fall onto the bed and he tries one last time, gives her one last chance._

_"I wan' y'to do it."_

_He holds his breath waiting._

_Tell me no, chere… please…_

_She gazes into his eyes and hers are soft and glistening and he thinks maybe… maybe…_

_"Ah don't hafta t'touch you. Ah believe you, Remy… Ah don’t hafta touch you…"_

_It's exactly what he wants her to say, exactly what he needs to her to say._

_He's won._

_She lies beneath him, trusting him, and he feels a flash of guilt for how it's happened. He manipulated her into changing her mind, did everything he could to get her to choose him._

_If he was a good man, a decent man, he would tell her now that he saw her with Avalanche. That he knows the Brotherhood sent her. He would tell her that he lied. That he had no intention of letting her into his head again. That he said what he said… because he wanted to win. He wanted her wrapped up in him the way he had been wrapped up in her. If he was a good man he would tell her and let her go._

_But he's not._

_And if he ever does tell her those things he won’t be doing it because it's right, it's honest. He'd be doing it to hurt her. And a part of him wants to._

_A part of him wants her to know right now what if feels like to be lied to, to be strung along by hope and desire and fooled into thinking that maybe this time,_ **_this_ ** _time, it will be different._

_He thinks about how many nights he's spent looking for her, pining for her like a fucking lovesick kid. How he almost did the one thing he swore he would never do again._

_Fall in love._

_It doesn't matter that she's chosen him now. She only did it because he tricked her into it._

_He's not going to tell her though._

_He reaches for the gauze._

_He's going to use her._

_He kisses her, presses himself against her, he gets lost, forgets the danger that he's been so aware of, that he's toyed with all night long._

_He thinks she says something but he can't hear her over the pounding of his own heart. He doesn't want to hear her. He's afraid she'll tell him she loves him and he doesn’t think he can handle that._

_He closes his eyes._

_He kisses her and this time he tastes strawberries._

-/-

He swings his legs off the bed and gets to his feet, shaking his head. It was wrong of him to fall asleep. Unprofessional. Mystique would be pissed if she knew how much time he had wasted…

He glances out the window. It's still night. He still has time to do it before they wake up, before they're no longer vulnerable.

He opens the drawer next to the bed, pulls out a fresh deck just in case he needs it.

The gauze is gone. He catches a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. It's on the bed. 

And there's someone under it. 

He doesn’t remember going to the club tonight, but he must have if… 

He's surprised he brought someone back here. 

_Big no-no dat one is. Cyke be on my case big time if he fin' out…_

He slips the cards out of their box and tosses it away. He fans them out before him, smelling the new-card smell.

_But m'not gon' t'have t'worry 'bout him no mo’ anyway..._

He slides the pack down his hip, looking for a pocket, and starts when he feels them on his skin. 

He's naked. 

He looks at the figure obscured by the gauze.

He wonders if he enjoyed his evening.

Shame he can't remember any of it.

He goes to the open closet, reaches inside.

His hand brushes against the woman's jacket. It smells good.

Like magnolias and sunlight.

He takes out his trench, pulls it on.

He turns off the stereo on his way to the door, hums quietly to himself as he puts the cards in his pocket, pats his other one to make sure his bo staff is there.

_"Once you do it and you find out where they are in the house it is very important that you absorb the one called Jean Grey first… You will need to use her telepathic abilities to control the other psyches you will absorb tonight… It's the only way you will be able to handle them all…"_

He closes the door behind him, makes his way down the hall without a sound, his bare feet light on the carpet.

_"I want them all taken care of… I want them gone…"_

He comes to Jean and Scott's room. He slips inside quiet as a cat.

_"Make us proud, Rogue…"_


	11. Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Politik - Coldplay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHlYLt7Vt2c)_

Scott is sleeping with an arm flung over his eyes. 

He reaches out to touch him, to clamp his hand around his wrist and pull it away so he can look into them for that one second when he's jolted awake just before it happens. He wants him to see, to know that he was right not to trust him. That's all Cyke's been asking for since the day he got here.

_Mess up, prove me right, prove me right… just give me an excuse to blast you through a wall…_

Before he can make contact Scott shifts with a heavy sigh and his arm falls away on its own. Moonlight splashes across the surface of his visor as he turns his head towards the open window.

Jean is there.

She's sitting in a straight-backed chair beside it, the drapes billowing around her, brushing against her bare legs but she doesn’t stir. Her eyes are closed, her breathing even… 

_Jean giggles. It makes her sound like a little girl. Her shoulders shake and a hand splays over her mouth, her deep red hair falling into her eyes. He reaches out to brush it back half hoping Scott will walk in._

_Pissing off Cyclops is fast becoming a favorite pastime._

_She stops laughing and blinks at him. He leans in closer and she doesn't pull back, she just puts a gentle hand on his chest and says, "What do you think you're doing?"_

_"Payin’ f'm'room…"_

_She gives him a soft smile but keeps her hand firmly pressed over his heart._

_"You don't have to do that here, Gambit."_

_"Y'mean y'don' wan' me t'put out?"_

_"That won’t be necessary."_

_"You sure?"_

_She laughs, shoves him back._

_"Yes."_

_He likes that he hasn’t made her uncomfortable. He knows she won't tell Scott and he likes her for that too._

_She turns back to the Mr Bean marathon on Comedy Central._

_Jean says "I'm a sucker for British comedy," and he makes a big show of looking around to make sure they're alone, and nods his head towards hers whispering confidentially, "I seen_ **_every_ ** _episode of_ **_Absolutely Fabulous_ ** _…"_

_Jean snorts like a pig and he chuckles as she covers her face with her hands, embarrassed._

_"Dose ladies know how t'party…"_

_That makes her laugh harder and he feels good, really good to be here. He's quiet for a moment thinking about that, how strange it is that he feels so comfortable here, that even though he doesn’t belong, he wants to. He feels like maybe someday he could._

_"Why are you here, Gambit? I mean with the X-men…?"_

_He taps his forehead, "Why ask when y'can jus' take?"_

_"I'd never do that… Anyway, you're shielded." He grins. "It's not what you think! I haven't tried to get in. I can just feel them. They're strong."_

_"Dat make you suspicious?"_

_"No… just… curious. Ororo trusts you and that's more than enough for me, but you don’t really seem interested in what we do here so why…?"_

_He pulls at the chain around his neck, slides the pendant back and forth. He'd gone back to the lab to find it, sifted through the rubble on his hands and knees. It didn't take him very long. The place had been cleared out, all the bits and pieces of equipment, all the papers and files had disappeared, and that could only mean one thing - Essex was still alive and was setting up shop somewhere else._

_And he had an unpaid debt hanging over his head._

_He'd gone to the mansion that night, took Storm up on her offer._

_He looks at Jean patiently waiting for his answer and he decides to tell her the truth. He doesn’t know why. Maybe because she invited him to stay up and watch TV with her. Maybe because she snorts when she laughs. Maybe because she has green eyes._

_He looks into them, he thinks of Essex, he says, "Cause I'm 'fraid of who I turn out t'be if 'm not here. 'M making a choice t'try an be better den I am."_

He stops, his naked hand hovering over Jean's bare shoulder.

_Jeannie a good girl… Dey all good people… even Cyke…_

_I can't do dis… I wan' be better dan dis…_

He drops his hand and she clenches her eyes shut, swallows hard. 

_Ah… Ah ain't… Gambit.Ah ain't got no loyalties to these people…_

She reaches out again, her hand shaking, its shadow vibrating on that pale, pale skin.

_Ah almost betrayed Mystique t'night…an' fo' what?_

_Fo' a lie._

_He lies 'bout everythin'. He lies t' everyone. He lies t' himself._

_Dey all good people…_

_Compared t' who? T' you, Remy?_

** _You jus' mad cuz I beat y'at y'own game._ **

_Fuck you._

** _Now, we know_ _dat_ _ain' never gon' happen don' we?_ **

Her eyes burn, but her hand is steady and a breath away from contact.

_Ah know where Ah stand now. Ah know where my loyalties lie. Ah know who Ah can trust, who really cares about me. Ah was a fool to ever think it could be you…_

She drops her hand onto the sleeping woman's shoulder. 

-/-

It's…different.

She's conscious... 

She thinks she's conscious. 

She's looking at the room, the bedroom, but there is no one here. The window is still open but the drapes do not move. There is no breeze, no sound. The bed is empty. The chair is empty.

She doesn’t know yet if she is afraid. 

She sits in the chair to gather herself.

Her feet aren't touching the floor anymore. There is no floor. She looks down and

Stars… millions upon millions of stars… faces in the stars… comet tails whispering secrets, conversations, confessions… milky ways of memories… planets of hopes and dreams, fears and regrets… black holes…

She watches them swirling below her, all around her…

A comet shoots by, it's voice soft, it says _We love you so much, honey… don’t be afraid… Professor Xavier will take good care of you…_

A face… 

Hidden eyes, shy smile… stars in his hair, falling out past his lips…

_I love you, Jean…_

_I love you, Red..._

Another face… different… he shakes his head with a forced smile… his eyes are gentle… She's the only one in the world who can make him look like that…

_I'll make it easy for you, Jeannie…_

He turns his back, opens his arms up to the abyss, stars shooting from his fingers, six straight lines that tear into the sky… he disappears…

_Logan… Where are you… where did you go…_

"Who are you?" 

She turns sharply towards the voice.

"What are you _doing_ here?"

The ceiling is a blue sky and Jean Grey is descending from the clouds, coming down fast, eyes blazing.

She falls from the chair. She falls through the stars. 

So many faces, so many friends, so many words of encouragement, love…

She doesn't understand why she isn't in the memories, why she feels like a spectator. 

Jean Grey reaches out to her, tries to catch her, and she doesn't understand why she is solid, why she can actually feel her fingers brush against the sleeve of Gambit's coat before she disappears into one of the black holes…

She lands with a thud. She's on a street. There's a car racing towards her. It's not stopping. She can't move. 

It passes through her before she can scream, b ut someone else does.

_"Annie!"_

She turns to see a little red-haired girl huddled over something in the middle of the road. She's sobbing, she's saying _"nonononononono…."_

There's a shoe lying on the ground.

She picks it up, she goes to the little girl and kneels down beside her. She's holding another girl in her arms, her hair matted with blood. 

And suddenly the little girl stops crying.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream. She lets go of her friend, her hands flying to her head, her palms pressing against her temples…

_"It hurts… mommy… daddy… it hurts…"_

A hand curls around her collar, yanking her up off the street. She drops the shoe as the red-haired girl whimpers, " _I'll miss you, Jeanie…_ "

"Get out of there!"

She's back in the empty bedroom, back in the chair. Jean Grey floats before her, her hands still holding onto the collar of Gambit's coat. 

"Who are you?!"

"Ah'm… Rogue."

"What are you _doing_ here?"

"Ah don't know… This's never happened b'fore… Ah'm… Ah'm in y' head…?"

Jean's grip loosens, she steps back, folding her arms in front of her chest. She looks around at her surroundings and frowns.

"No… I've never been here before."

Rogue looks at the room again. 

It's her room. Her old room with the Bennetts.

She gets up from the chair. It's a rocker.

_"This is an antique, sugah… my momma gave it t'me on mah weddin' day… it was mah nanna's…"_

Sunlight streams through the open window, splashing onto the lemon yellow bedspread. She can actually feel the coolness of the hardwood floor beneath her feet. She looks at Jean.

Jean says, "We're in _your_ head…" She nods at the mirror hanging above the dresser and her memories are reflected back at them. The different foster homes, an endless parade of faces and fists, disappointments and longings.

The first time… it shimmers across the surface of the mirror.

Jean watches as she absorbs her best friend. She watches her huddled in the rocking chair crying _"get outta mah head get outta mah head…"_ over and over again. Jean turns away from the mirror to look at her and says softly, "That happened to me too…"

She points at the floor and the wood suddenly looks transparent, milky. Beneath it the stars are still there and Jean shows her herself, alone and crying and trying to understand where all the voices are coming from…

She stares down into the galaxy of Jean's mind swirling beneath the floorboards of her old room and suddenly she understands.

_Ah… Ah thought Ah was in her head but… mah mind was jus' mimickin' hers… Ah usually f'get who Ah am when that happens… but Ah didn’t this time…_

She looks up at Jean who is solid, who is not a memory.

_Because she wasn' there when Ah did it… she wasn' there, she-_

"I was on the astral plane… I came back and I thought this was my mind, but it's not… It can't be, but you have…" she gestures at the galaxy beneath their feet, confused, disturbed, "You have _everything_ … When I leave my body I lock away all my memories… if there's any kind of problem, if anyone tries a telepathic probe they're not supposed to be able to get past the room…"

"Ah ain't got no telepathy. Ah touch an' Ah take mem'ries, powers. That's why mah mind is… set up like yours now, Ah think…? An' why Ah'm here with ya on the… what d'ya call it?"

"The astral plane… we're at the entrance," she whispers looking at the mirror again. 

Bruce is there now. 

Bruce's face contorted with pain as she sucks the life out of him…

"You touched me…"

"Ah'm in ya room at the mansion right now. Ah'm prob'ly passed out at ya feet."

"How did you even get _in_ … Why…"

_"Mystique, what happened?!"_

Jean turns to stare at the window now. More memories are reflected there in the glass. Memories of the Brotherhood, Mystique. 

_"We found hostages… Men, Women, and children test subjects… they were being used as lab rats for a demo to be given tomorrow for investors... We released them, They were running to get free and the guards started shooting… and then **they** showed up..."_

"What…" Jean goes to the window, presses her hands against the frame, watching, listening.

_"Who are they?"_

_"Mutant terrorists who specialize in terrorizing other mutants. They call themselves X-Men. We believe they work for the government, a kind of strike force to keep groups like us in line…"_

"That's not true!" She whips around pointing at the window that is now showing Remy.

Remy looking down at her with those smoldering eyes… looking right into hers and _lying_ …

She turns away from it.

"There were no hostages! Just the guards… they _slaughtered_ them…" Jean is fuming, pink energy rising off of her like steam. " _We're_ the terrorists?!" 

_No hostages?_

"Wait, there had to've been hostages. They must've got 'em out before ya-"

Jean grabs her, yanks her through the floor and back into the stars. A blood red moon hovers before them and the warehouse is reflected on its surface. She sees the Brotherhood picking off the guards, toying with them as they destroy the tracking devices. 

"We were informed of the location as well. We were coming to get rid of the devices too - hopefully without alerting any of the guards. They weren't members of the MCA, they were just doing their jobs…"

She watches one of the guards screaming, in flames, running in circles.

Pryo laughing.

The X-Men storming in, attacking the Brotherhood, trying to get the remaining guards clear, trying to keep them safe.

No hostages. 

None.

She turns away feeling sick, shutting her eyes against the images. When she opens them again she's sitting on the yellow bed and Jean stands before her, her eyes hard.

"She sent you to kill us."

"Ah… Ah was s'posed t'touch ya first so Ah could use y'powers t'control all the psyches when Ah absorbed the others…"

"So you didn't touch anyone else?"

"Remy… Ah touched Remy…" 

"Remy?"

"Gam… Gambit."

"Is he… did you…?" 

Her eyes burn.

"Ah don’t know," she whispers. "Ah don’t know how long we-"

Jean doesn’t say a word. She pushes up off of the floor and flies away, back into the clouds, back into the astral plane to find her way back to her own body.

She closes her eyes tight and thinks herself out of her mind.

-/-

She's lying on the floor, crumpled in a heap at Jean's feet. She stays that way for a moment, watching the early morning sunlight creep across the carpet. She sits up when it reaches her and Jean stirs, her eyes fluttering open and meeting hers.

They stare at each other, neither saying a word.

She slowly gets to her feet, turns toward the open window.

Jean weakly says, "Wait," but she's already diving out of it. 

She thinks, _"up,"_ and suddenly she is. She's flying high, high among the clouds haloed in the pink haze of Jean's power.


	12. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [I Am - Joseph Arthur](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4mkC0tGrazE)  
> [Take My Time/Rifles - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mh406lBS5M8)_

She doesn't go in through the lobby. Doesn't patiently wait for the elevator and organize her thoughts on the way up. She uses Jean's powers to blow open a window in the common room.

St. John sits on the couch with his notebook. He grins at the shards of glass now decorating the carpet and then up at her floating before him, her body outlined in pink fire.

"Congrats, girlie, looks like you're really one of us now." 

She stares at his teeth, his curled lips.

_St. John laughing as the guard begs for his life…_

She wants to ram his pen through his heart. 

As soon as she thinks it it's jerked from his hand. 

It hovers between them pointed at his chest.

He smiles again, narrows his eyes.

"Yeah. You're one of us all right…"

_NO._

_Ah'm not._

The pen falls. 

He smirks, catches her sleeve as she passes and holds on tight.

"Did they scream? _Tell_ me they screamed…"

She yanks her arm away and makes a motion to shove him back. He flips off the couch and slams into the wall behind it. She steps over him, making her way to Mystique's office, the halo of energy around her body buzzing and crackling with fury.

She waves her hands and the doors fly open. She has to restrain herself from ripping them off their hinges and hurling them at Mystique who is sitting at her desk, a coffee cup poised before her lips.

"What is it with you kids and property damage?"

The cup shatters with a thought.

"There were no hostages."

Mystique takes a deep breath, brushes the droplets of coffee off her blouse and calmly sets the handle of the broken cup down on the desk.

"No."

"The X-Men are not terrorists."

"Depends on who you ask."

"You lied to me."

"Ro-"

"You _lied_." _Do not cry. Do not fucking cry_. "An' the part that really confuses th'hell outta me is that ya must've known Ah'd find out th' second Ah touched her… ya must've known Ah'd _see_ … Didja really think Ah'd go through with it after that?"

"Yes."

She stares at her. 

_Don’t cry, don't cry…_

"Then ya don’t know me at all."

"Rogue, listen to me. I never would have asked you to harm Gambit if it weren't of the utmost importance. I knew it would be hard for you but there was no other way to get you in. I thought it would be easier for you to betray him if you thought…" She sighed. "I had hoped that when you saw inside Jean Grey's head, you would trust that there was good reason behind what I was asking you to do. I had hoped that you would trust me and follow through with the plan despite what you saw… But you didn’t did you?"

She raises her chin, her eyes hard.

"No."

"I only lied about there being hostages, Rogue. The X-Men _did_ attack us-"

"Because you were killin' innocent people!"

"They were far from innocent."

_They weren't members of the MCA… they were just doing their jobs…_

"They had _nothin_ ' to do with those trackin' devices!"

"They were employed by the company that made them. It was our intention to send the MCA a message-"

"In _blood_?"

"Those tend to be the ones that aren't ignored."

"Y'just feedin' their fear! No wonder they wanna keep tabs on us! No wonder they hate us!"

"We didn’t start this fight, Rogue."

"But you're gonna finish it, huh?"

"We will do whatever it takes to ensure that our people will not be harmed or persecuted in any way. _We_ are the future, not them."

"God… who _are_ you…" she whispers.

"I am a soldier, Rogue. I do what needs to be done."

"Even if it means hurtin' people."

"Why should you care about them? All they've ever done is hurt _you_. Those girls in the orphanage you told me about, that janitor who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. The woman who ran the institution for Chrissake must have known about all of it. And did she help you? Did she care enough about you to try and make it stop? As for your foster families - how many were there now? - They all sent you back because they sensed something was different about you. They didn’t want you because they realized you were not like _them_. None of those people cared about you-"

"The Bennetts did. The Bennetts-"

"Just needed a babysitter. Notice how as soon as you were unable to go near their child they dumped you back where they found you."

The stinging in her eyes is getting worse, she can barely choke out, "Then what about Cody… and Deacon… they didn’t want anything from me, they just wanted to be my frien-"

"Had they known what you are they would have spit in your face. They would have turned their backs on you just like everyone else."

"No…"

"Child, wake _up_. This is the world we live in. The history of the human race is one fraught with racism and intolerance. Peaceful coexistence is impossible. The X-Men believe otherwise, but they are wrong. They are misguided and foolish-" 

"An' ya wanted me to get rid o' them because they were in y'way… Because they were protectin' those people…"

"Our job is hard enough without having to worry about the X-Men ruining everything. They needed to be taken care of."

"Ah can't believe this… Ah can’t believe the words that are comin' outta y'mouth… Y'told me when Ah firs' came here that ya _protected_ mutants-"

"They aren't giving us much choice, Rogue. They're strong… _too_ strong. You are the only one who can take them down-"

"So all this time… bein' nice to me, treatin' me like…" she swallows, her eyes finally brimming over, "like a _daughter_ … Tellin' me all that crap 'bout how we were destined t'care fo' each other and stand by each other… It was all bullshit. All ya've ever wanted from me was mah power-"

"Rogue, that's not true. My feelings for you are genuine. I won’t deny that we need your gift, that it is beneficial to us, but please know that that is not all you are to me-"

"How could Ah possibly believe anythin' you say again!"

"It's the truth."

She snorts and angrily pushes the tears from her cheeks with the heels of her palms. 

"Well Ah've got one for _you_. Ah'm leavin' this place - you - all of it."

"I can't let you do that. The MCA is only getting stronger - the destruction of the devices is only a minor setback, they'll make more-"

"An they'll send them out t'another warehouse and y'all will kill y'selves some more security guards. _Fuck that_ , Mystique, and _fuck_ _you_. Ya can't make me work fo ya!"

"Yes, I can, Rogue."

She lifts a remote control from her desk and points it at the screen on the opposite wall.

_"Ah know there's someone there!"_

Rogue whirls around at the sound of the voice.

There is a girl on the TV. A girl in a white room standing in front of a door with no handle. She has long dark hair…

_"Dammit, Ah can hear ya!"_

She turns suddenly and looks up at the camera bolted into the corner of the cell. She gives the camera the finger with both hands.

Deborah.

"No…"

_"Lemme out!"_ Deborah picks up one of the chairs and flings it against the door. She stands there for a moment, staring at it, her shoulders shaking. She's sobbing. _"Jus' tell me what ya wan't…"_

She can’t move. She feels like she's going to throw up.

"I didn’t want it to come to this, Rogue. I had hoped that we had bonded enough for you to trust me. I had hoped that you would come to see things as I do, and fight with us willingly-"

Deborah… Deborah missing for months, and all this time…

"It was you… y'kidnapped her… you…" She turns back to Mystique, weak with shock, her voice barely more than a whisper. "How could y'do this…"

"We have to win, Rogue. We need you to do it."

"Let her go."

"Will you stay?"

"Yes."

"Good." Mystique sets the remote down on the desk and leans back in her chair. 

She stands there waiting in the silence, still feeling sick, still unable to move. She swallows.

"So ya'll let her go right? Ah said yes so she can go…"

"Rogue."

She closes her eyes.

"We need to be sure you'll do your job."

-/-

_Deborah…_

_All this time she's been here… somewhere in this building… locked away fo’ months…_

_Because of me._

_Because Mystique wanted me._

She had asked if she could see her and she said no.

_"Why not?"_

_"Because I don't want you getting any ideas about breaking her out. She is perfectly well cared for, Rogue. We have done nothing to her."_

_"How long you plannin' on keepin' her locked away!?"_

_"As long as it takes."_

She sits beside the pool on the roof of the penthouse watching the water ripple in the quiet breeze. The noise of the city seems so far away, just a dull murmur, a buzz, a hum. She wants to lose herself in it, wants to close her eyes and be swept away by the crowd until she's somewhere else, until she's someone else.

But she can't. 

She can’t go down to the street. She can't even go to her apartment. She has to stay. Mystique informed her that all of her things would be brought to the penthouse this afternoon. 

_"A separate apartment is not necessary when everything you could possibly want is here."_

She's just as trapped as Deborah and always has been. She just hadn't been able to see it until now. She had been played from the very beginning. _Ms Darkholme_ must have put it into Deborah's head that New York was the place to go, and she must have been keeping an eye on them, waiting for the perfect time to swoop in and take her… 

Irene and Mystique knew exactly what they needed to do to get her where they wanted her. They knew if they made Deborah disappear, she would eventually come to them for help.

And she had.

Because what else could she have done? A young girl, all alone in a big city… No one to trust really but that nice lady in the beautiful suit who had come to see her at the orphanage that one time… 

She had called her "lovely", she had smiled at her and said so sincerely, "I do hope you change your mind…" 

How fortunate that Deborah had kept her card.

She slips her feet into the water. They look so blue, so pale…

_Like his face…_

"Whose face?"

_Etienne…_

She shakes her head. She doesn't want to think about that. 

She thinks about Irene's journals instead, her sketches. The pictures of her with an X on her chest.

_I refuse to wear a uniform dat has a target on it, Stormy…_

An X on her chest. A uniform.

_"She beat me to you - You had already been adopted the first time I came to see you…"_

What a load of crap. 

Irene had known exactly where she was the whole time.

They left her in that orphanage on purpose. They hadn't liked the future where Mystique adopted her first because she had ended up with the X-Men in it. And that wasn't _desirable to the cause._

They liked the other future. The one where she was alone for the first seventeen years of her life. In that future she ended up with _them_.

In that future she belonged with the Brotherhood. 

She kicks her legs under the water, watches them move in slow motion before breaking the surface then plunking back down again. Sunlight slithers over the little waves, squiggling and shimmering like fishes...

_The water was so clear ya could see all th'way t'the bottom… not like th' river here… And the fishes… they come this close to ya…_

She closes her eyes, whispers, "Whatcha think ya doin', Cody?"

_Ah think Ah'm gonna kiss ya._

"What th'hell for?"

_Cuz Ah like ya an Ah think y'about the sweetes' girl in th'whole state no matter what ya say…_

The sun passes behind a cloud. She feels it's shadow cross her face.

_Rogue, what are you doing? Don't let them out!_

The wind picks up. She shivers. She's still only wearing his coat.

_Here, take it. It get cold down here…_

_You're so cold darlin'… let's see if Ah can warm ya up some…_

She opens her eyes. She can still see him lying across the foot of her bed.

"Ya deserved it… bastard…"

_Bastards deserved everything they got!_

_Flip, spark, flip spark._

Pyro paces around her head with his lighter trying to burn her. She feels nothing. She's still so cold. 

_You deserved it…_

She killed Bruce to protect herself, she killed him for revenge, she turned his death into a message to all those girls…

"Don't mess with me." 

_Ah ain' so diff'rent from Mystique…_

_Forget Mystique - who're the bastards? What did I do?_

"Ya burned a man alive."

_Did he scream?_ **_Tell_ ** _me he screamed…_

"Shut up, Pryo." 

_Did that guy scream? The one you've got stashed under the bed? What about the kid?_

"Shut up."

_I'd be a little nicer to me if I were you - after all, we're gonna be teammates right? You, me, Dom, Mystique and Irene… one big happy family… It's what you've always wanted right?_

_Souns pretty cozy, chere… nice place t'live, permission t'touch and touch and touch all y'wan… an now ya got Jeannie here t'keep y'from goin' insane…_

"Fuck off Gambit."

_It's wrong, Rogue. You can't let them use you like a weapon..._

_But she is a weapon…"De beauty wit out mercy"… draw dem in, make dem want you… like I wanted you… take everyting… lie, cheat, steal and touch…_

His husky laugh in her head…

_We ain' so diff'rent neither huh, chere?_

"We are different. You would let Deborah rot."

_I don' know bout dat - she a pretty good kisser, neh?_

_We have to find the professor. I was talking to him that night on the astral plane when I felt you…_

_Flip spark, flip spark._

_You could be my muse girlie - my next heroine… I'll make you immortal…_

_The most important thing is making sure she stays safe, that they don’t harm her in any way. You might have to play by their rules until I can get help-_

_An there's all sorts of rules an' stuff that ya hafta pay attention too, but I kin teach ya… Ah bet yer good at baseball… 'specially the hittin' part…_

_-He's the world's most powerful telepath. He can find where she-_

_My love mus' be a kin' a blin' love- I can' see anyone but you…_

_You'll lose your virginity to a handsome young fire-eater in chapter four-_

_Darlin' you're so soft…_

_Are de stars out t'night…_

_\- more powerful -_

"Stop it…" 

_I don' know if it's cloudy o' bright…_

_We can help -_

_I only have eyes f'you…_

_Professor? are you there?_

_Chere…_

_\- and I fell off the ledge and broke my arm in two places!_

_Sh'bop sh'bop_

"Stop talking…"

_Why am I still here -_

"Everyone shut up!" 

_Th' moon may be high…_

_Can't reach anyone -_

_But I can't see a ting in de sky…_

_Your head is a mess-_

_Mah life is a mess… Ah cain’t stop this…_

_I only have eyes f'you…_

_\- Ah tell myself not to but then there ya are so sweet and soft in that beautiful moonlight…_

_I don' know if we in a garden…_

_This's mah secret place… it can be yours too if ya want…_

_\- can't feel Scott…_

_So sorry darlin'… so pretty…_

_Or on a crowded av'nue…_

_God where am I -_

"Please… stop _…_ please…" 

_You are here What have you done And so am I So soft pretty pretty girl Maybe millions of people go by I'm not supposed to still be here But they all disappear from view I'll be your best friend if ya let me And I only have eyes you are destined ta hurt ta be alone always For you chere Ah am alone always Everythin' ya touch turns ta shit Sh'bop sh'bop-_

" _STOP!!!_ "

_Dance wit me chere…_

"Rogue!"

Cool water enveloping her flesh, wrapping the trench coat around her body like a cocoon…

And silence.

Sweet, sweet, silence.

Floating like flying through the early morning sky like being in space with the stars and the silence no voices only clouds and comets…

And then arms, strong arms around her waist pulling her up, up… 

She takes a choking breath, gasps as the air fills her lungs. She is hauled up onto the concrete her legs still dangling in the pool and Dominick leans over her his brown eyes wide, his hair stuck to his forehead, water streaking down his cheeks like tears.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

"That's never happened before…" she whispers. 

"What?"

"They all started talkin' at once… they're not s'posed to be able ta do that… Ah heard Cody… for the first time in years… Ah heard Cody…"

_You let him through… You're breaking down your own barriers, Rogue…_

"I thought you had them under control…"

"Ah did… Ah thought Ah did…"

_Did you really think it'd be that easy, girlie? Just lockin' us up and tossing us away?_

_You said it y'self, chere…_

_"The people ah touch…ah_ **_kill_ ** _them… an they… they haunt me. They may fade to the background, but they're never really_ **_gone_ ** _…"_

"Why now… why…"

_I think it's my fault..._

"Jean?"

"The telepath? I thought you absorbed her so she could take care of the ghosts?"

_Looks like it backfired…_

"How many of the X-men did you take out?" He shakes his head angrily. "I knew Mystique was pushing too hard, asking you to get all of them! I told her, I said just have her get rid of-" 

"Ah hate you, Dom."

_Hey, me too!_

He blinks at her. "What did I do?"

" _"He came outta nowhere and started tearin' the place up, Rogue, he had it in f'me, Ah looked inta his eyes and Ah knew he was enjoyin' it… hurtin' me, burnin' me… he's not who ya think he is…"_ You said that to me. You knew I was unsure about the whole thing and you took me out, away from the others, talked me inta it, looked me in the eye and _lied_ -"

_Well not completely, chere - I kinna_ **_did_ ** _enjoy it…_

"Shut _up_!"

Dominick stares at her.

"You need to calm down… Let me help you…"

He reaches out to her and the diving board to their left snaps in half. 

It hovers in the air, pink fire crackling, snapping. The glow touches Dominick's worried face and she growls "Go. Away." 

"Rogue plea-"

_"Ya best leave now 'fore I do somethin' I won't regret…"_

His voice is calm. His eyes are soft. He says, "I'm not leaving until I'm sure you're okay. You can hit me with that thing all you want." 

Pyro laughs, chants **_do_** _it_ ** _do_** _it._

Remy says, _charge it firs'._

Her hands start to tingle, they start to glow.

_I think I can still help you, Rogue… but I can't do it alone…_

She gets to her feet, careful not to touch the ground. Dominick reaches for her again, tries to help her up.

She jerks herself away and arcs a pink hand at him. He flies back and lands in the middle of the pool, the diving board just narrowly missing him as she releases her hold and it hits the water with a slap before sinking below the waves.


	13. Bedroom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Whipping Tree - The Dandy Warhols](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ui-1jEWQYK8)  
> [Ocean Breathes Salty - Sun Kil Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8i2tOfzyfk)_

She gazes up at the green silk canopy hovering over her bed as it lifts and drops gently with the breeze slipping in from the open window. It makes her think of drapes billowing around Jean Grey as she sleeps, defenseless, vulnerable…

_But I wasn’t asleep… I wasn’t in my body — I was communicating with Charles-_

_How is ole’ cueball, Jeannie? M’I ever gon’ get de chance t’meet de man?_

_Wait, Xavier’s gone? Rogue, you gotta tell Mystique-_

_Shut up, Pyro._

**_You_ ** _shut up Miss I’m-too-good-for-a-codename!_

_Why don’ you all shut up b’fore chere here tries t’off herself a’gin._

She frowns at the canopy.

"Ah did _not_ try t’kill mahself - Ah was jus’ tryin’ ta get ya’ll ta stop-"

_Well y’scared de ghosts pretty good — dey haven’ said nuthin’ since._

"Ghosts?"

_Yeah, y’know the old guy and the kid…_

_Don’t think about them right now. You need to relax, Rogue. Take deep breaths, center yourself-_

_Ommm…_

_Shut up, Pyro!_

**_You_ ** _shut up ya hick!_

_M’from N’awlins, can’ be no hick if I from de city, non?_

_Oh my God would you both just_ **_stop_** _? Rogue, you need to get in here and take care of this-_

"Ah’ve been lyin’ here f’half an hour tryin’ t’get in! You try an focus with these yahoos yammerin’ in y’head!"

_Rogue, I’m a telepath — it’s what I do best. And it’s why you absorbed me. Use my power to block them out enough to get in. Once you’re here you can take care of them for good…_

She closes her eyes tight, concentrates.

_Wait, what does she mean ‘take care of us’?_

_What she mean ‘f’good?’_

_Quiet!_

"Nuthin’s happenin’…"

_She can’t really get rid of us can she?_

_Okay, I’m going to try something Rogue, just let me…_

_What happens to us if she gets rid of us?_

_Hey… what’s Jeannie doin’…_

_Hey! Hey, Red, stop it! Whatever she’s gonna do to us she’s gonna do to you t-_

"Ah’m tellin’ ya it ain’ worki-" 

She opens her eyes and she’s back in the bedroom she had with the Bennetts. It’s empty like the last time except for Jean who sits on the rocker with the tips of her fingers lightly touching her temples. She opens her eyes and smiles when she sees her.

"What did ya do?"

"I fed you my power — I guess you can’t access it on your own for very long after the initial contact… Anyway, we got rid of them long enough for you to finish this, but you have to do it now before they come at you again."

"Why can’t you jus’ do it for me?"

"Because this is _your_ mind, Rogue. You have the real power here, not me — I’m just a wrench, you’re the mechanic — you know how to fix this."

"But what if I don’t?"

The redhead sighs impatiently.

"Look, I don’t have time for this okay? I’m willing to stay here long enough to help get your mind in order but if Scott wakes up and can’t feel me he’s going to be really worried."

She frowns at her. 

_Stay here…? Doesn’t she realize…_

"Jean…"

"What?"

"…Nothing."

"Alright." She claps her hands together with a determined smile. "You ready to do this?"

"…yeah."

Jean’s smile softens. She reaches out to put a supportive hand on her shoulder, her green eyes kind.

"You’re going to be fine, Rogue. I’ll be right here the whole time. I won’t let them hurt you."

"Okay… Hey, Jean?"

"Yes?"

"Why did they all start talkin’ ta me? How’d they… get out? Ah mean that’s never happened b'fore — usually after Ah touch someone they’re around for a little while but after Ah block them out they never come back..."

"I think when your mind mimicked mine it weakened the barriers you had set up between yourself and them. They started coming and once you acknowledged them they were able to break through completely. They came from there..."

Jean gestures at a splintered closet door. There are scorch marks on it.

"I was here with Gambit since you hadn’t had a chance to take care of him yet and all of a sudden the voices started and then… they just came crashing through. I guess that’s where you’ve kept them."

"So Ah… Ah hafta put them back there?" She goes to the closet, peeks around the door nearly hanging off its hinges. There are four busted open metal boxes inside, chains scattered across the floor. It’s cold inside, dark.

"So this is what mah mind usually looks like…? Shouldn’t it have gone back ta this after ya powers wore off?"

"Not necessarily — your mind can look any way you want it too. The reason it’s still like this is because this is how you want it to be."

"Oh…"

"So where should we start, Rogue?"

She turns away from the closet, looks around the room, not sure where to begin until her eyes catch on the mirror of her dresser reflecting a memory…

"How ‘bout th’beginnin’?"

-/-

He’s standing by the river. The sunlight falling through the trees highlights his blond hair in gold and paints lacy patterns of shadow on his bare arms. He smiles when he sees her and her heart aches. He’s so young…

"M’glad ya came!" he says enthusiastically and plops down on the tall grass. "Service was borin’ t’day huh?" 

She swallows and nods. "Yeah… Ah hate church…"

He grins. "Me too… there’s tons o’ thing’s Ah’d rather be doin’ on a Sunday mornin’ than gettin’ all dressed up an lissenin’ ta th’ preacher go on an’ on ‘bout how we all goin’ ta hell…"

She sits down beside him like she did before and she says like she did before,

"What would ya rather be doin’, Cody?"

"I dunno… swimmin’, playin’ ball." He lays down with an arm behind his head, stares up at the blue, blue sky. She does too. "Ah’m gonna try out f’the’team at school next week an Ah was wonderin’ if ya’d help me practice? There's all sorts of rules an' stuff that ya hafta pay attention to, but Ah kin teach ya. Ah bet yer good at baseball… 'specially the hittin' part…"

A yellow ladybug lands on her hand. She lets it crawl onto her finger, she holds it up to the sun.

"Those’re good luck," Cody says. "Mah Granny Jane tol’ me so. Ah caught me a red one once, but the next day Ah was in mah secret hideout and Ah fell off the ledge and broke mah arm in two places! Ah guess only the yellow one’s’re lucky..."

She watches it fly away.

"Ah don’t b’lieve in that stuff." She gets up like she did then, hops onto the tire swing and pushes off with all her might. She flies over the river in a wide arc, the wind rippling through her hair, drying the tears on her cheeks. Cody watches her from the grass, still smiling, still so happy she’s here with him.

"This's mah secret place," he calls. "It can be yours too if ya want…"

She hops off the swing and sits down again with her feet dangling in the river. She squishes her toes in the mud. She feels him come up behind her and sit down. He squints out at the water.

"You gotta best friend?"

"Ah ain’ got _any_ friends."

"Well… then… Ah’ll be y'best friend if ya let me…"

"If Ah let ya what?"

He blinks at her confused for a second, then grins.

"If ya let me _be_ ya best friend. Wha’dya think about that?"

"Alright. Jus’ don’t piss me off."

"Ah’ll try not ta."

He sticks his feet in the water too, swirls them around, the river mud mushrooming up around their ankles.

"Ya’ever been ta th’ Cari’bean?"

"Ah ain’ nevah been nowhere."

"Ah wen’ with mah mamma an’ daddy once on vacation. We wen’ ta a whole buncha islands… The water was so clear ya could see all th'way t'the bottom… not like th' river here. And the fishes… they come this close to ya…" He leans towards her, his nose almost brushing her cheek. She doesn’t move. She stares at the water, the swirling mud.

"Whatcha think ya doin', Cody?"

"Ah think Ah'm gonna kiss ya." 

She turns to look at him. 

"What th'hell for?"

"Cuz Ah like ya an Ah think ya 'bout the sweetes' girl in th'whole state no matter what ya say…"

His eyes are so blue. He’s so unafraid. He had no idea what was about to happen…

_Neither did you, Rogue._

She closes her eyes, tilts her chin up to him just like she did then. 

She doesn’t feel the kiss. She opens her eyes and he’s lying there in the grass, his feet still in the water, his eyes closed and a small smile on his lips. 

She can see right through him. He looks like a ghost.

"Ah’m so sorry, Cody…"

_It’s okay, Ah know it wadn’t yo’ fault… ya still mah best friend…_

She watches as he disappears completely but she can still feel him. He’s in the wind, the sunlight, the gentle waves lapping against her ankles.

She whispers a goodbye and gets to her feet. Jean is waiting for her just beyond the shadow of the tree and they walk back to the house together. She lifts the window to the bedroom and climbs inside. She stands there for a moment looking at the tire hanging over the river and smiles softly when it begins to swing.

"Are you going to put him back in the closet?" Jean asks and she shakes her head, gently shutting the window behind them.

"No. Cody doesn’ belong in there."

-/-

She finds Bruce under the bed where Pyro told her he’d be. She’d climbed under the dust ruffle and once she was through found herself back in the orphanage.

She stands beside her old bed now. She can feel the cold night air coming in through the window above it, chilling her all over again. She doesn’t play her part like she did with Cody. She can’t put herself through that again. Instead, she watches.

She watches him come in through the door, watches him carefully place his keys in his pocket so his hands will be free.

He places his palm on the bed, stretches out his fingers.

His gruff whisper, _"_ You're so cold, darlin'… Let's see if Ah can warm ya up some…", shakes right through her, makes her skin crawl.

He runs his hands up and down the empty sheet and she looks away, stares at the empty beds listening to his labored breathing, feeling sick, angry.

"Darlin' you're so soft…"

He comes through the door again. He sits down on her bed, pulls the sheet off and looks at where she used to be. He whispers, "Mah life is a mess… Ah cain’t stop this… Ah tell myself not to but then there ya are so sweet and soft in that beautiful moonlight…"

His hand reaches out, hovers, but doesn’t land. He gets up from the bed. He leaves. 

He comes again.

"So sorry, darlin'… so pretty…"

And again.

"So soft, pretty, pretty, girl"

He comes one last time. 

He sits on the edge of her bed, rasps "Welcome home, darlin…"

"Come and get it, sugah," she whispers and he looks up at her, the real her. There are tears in his eyes.

He says, "Ah deserved this."

And she looks at him. Really looks at him, hears the thoughts that had been running through her head over and over and over again after she had absorbed him that night.

_Ah am destined to hurt, ta be alone always. Ah am alone always. Everythin' Ah touch turns ta shit…_

She knows the feeling.

"Ah deserved this," he says again more to himself and she wants to say "no ya didn’t" but she can’t. As sad and pathetic and sick as he is, she can’t bring herself to say it. She hates him too much. She's glad he's dead.

His hand lands on the sheet where her naked skin had been. 

She watches him stiffen, watches an invisible current run through his body and then yank everything out of him, his life, his memories, his shame. It forms a shadow over the bed in the shape of her eleven-year-old body. 

Sunrise creeps over the window frame. Pink rays of sunlight pierce the shadow until it breaks apart and is gone.

Bruce says  _I’m so sorry, darlin’…_

She looks down at his body, lying at the foot of her bed. She can see right through him too. The ghost disappears and somewhere far away she hears the lid of a metal box clamping shut.

She crawls out from under the bed. Jean is waiting for her by the closet. They look inside at the box as its chains snake up and around it.

"Ah didn’t ask ya ta do that…" she murmurs and Jean shuts the door.

"He did," she says.

-/-

Remy is out on the front porch smoking a cigarette. He’s humming a song to himself, watching the clouds drift over the moon. 

She leans against the pillar across from him. "What is it with you and that song?" she asks and he takes a drag, closing his eyes as he exhales.

"Dat was when I lost her. In dat alley… it was over by den and I couldn’t let her go…" he grins at her, his teeth flashing white in the darkness. "I didn’ let you go… and den all dere was was darkness… jus’ like wit Belle… my life one big dark hole…" He finishes the cigarette, pulls out a packet of matches that have _Fahrenheit_ emblazoned across it in shiny red lettering.

"I felt you dat night at de club… dat firs’ night… felt y’eyes. An’ when I looked up an’ saw y’standin’ dere…" He charges a match. The tip flares. He watches it burn, tosses it away. "All dere was was you. Dat club was completely empty. All dere was was you." Flare. Burn. "I ain’ never thought ‘bout any o’dose girls. When dey were gone, dey were gone… but you…" he looks up at her. "You haunt me, _chere_." 

He comes to her, rests a hand against the pillar beside her cheek. She closes her eyes. Even in her mind he smells so good…

He leans in close. She knows he’s stroking her hair, gently running his fingers through it but she can’t feel it.

"I saw m’self in dere…" He nods at the open door, at the bedroom just on the other side. "I recognized m’self-" he stops, laughs shortly. "I mean de’look… like Belle all over agin’… Don’ tell me I wen’ an fell in love wit ya, _chere_ …"

She opens her eyes, gazes into his.

"Don’ tell me I got m’heart broke agin’…"

She looks away and suddenly he grins, takes a step back, lights up another damn cigarette.

"I blew it big time, huh?" he chuckles. "Can’ never seem t’hold onto de ladies dat’re worth it…"

"I ruined it first," she whispers. 

His eyebrows raise, a swirl of smoke creeps towards her from his lips.

"Tell me I f’gave ya, cuz man I know I be kickin’ m’self if I din’…"

"Stop it."

"Stop what, _chere_?"

"Stop bein’ so…"

Slow smile… she can feel it in her belly… warm…

"So what?"

" _Nice_."

He comes to her again. He looks so solid, she can’t see through him, but she still can’t feel him.

" _You_ nice, _chere_ …"

"No, Ah’m no-"

"An’ beautiful… an sexy…" He dips his head, his lips a breath away from hers. "Please tell me dat second me got here by touchin’ more den y’arm…"

"Remy…"

"Yeh?"

"I’m sorry."

"F’what?"

"That ya in me."

Another grin.

"I don’ min’ bein’ in ya, _chere_ …" She doesn’t smile back and his eyes flicker, taking in the pain in hers. His voice is soft. "Long as you don’ put me in de dark agin’ I be fine neh?"

"Ah can’t… Ah can’t have ya talkin’ t’me, Remy. Singing in mah head… It hurts…"

"Den I leave you alone, _chere_. I stay out here wit de stars and de boy." He nods at the tree, standing sentinel beside the river. "We keep each other from gettin’ too lonely." He reaches out again, an intangible caress against her cheek. "Don’ be sad, _chere_. Iss nice out here — I never been to Mississippi."

-/-

Pyro’s taking a bubble bath in her tub. He’s got the lights dimmed, the candles going.

"Please make y’self at home," she mutters kicking at his uniform dropped haphazardly on the tiles.

He smiles blowing a handful of bubbles at her and stretches comfortably, sending water sloshing over the edge of the tub.

"Good to be out of there… So cramped in that damned box… You could have at least given us coffins if you were gonna bury us. We could have laid down."

"Ah’ll keep that in mind next time."

His eyes narrow.

"No _way_ are you puttin’ me back in there, girlie! I’ll drive you _crazy_ first! You can’t-"

"Ah can an’ Ah will."

He takes a swing at her and his fist passes through. He tries it again and she stands there beside the tub watching his hand disappear into her midsection again and again. She feels nothing.

His face crumples.

"C’mon, girlie you can’t stick me back in there… I’m sorry I burned you but that’s how initiations go. You had to prove yourself."

"Ah don’t want ya in mah thoughts, St. John."

He pouts for a moment, stares at the mass of bubbles floating around him and says slowly, "What if I made you a deal?"

"What kinna deal?"

"I promise I’ll keep quiet if you let me stay here where it’s warm. I’s fucking freezing in that place you had us."

"And ya promise ya’ll stay here?"

"Scouts honor."

She looks at him dubiously as he makes a sloppy gesture with his soapy hand.

"Ah’m gonna have Jean lock th’door ya know."

"You don’t trust me?"

She stares at him. He smiles.

"Just one more thing before you’re off…" He starts to lift himself out of the tub and she slaps a hand over her eyes waving at him to sit back down.

"What?"

"Could you be a doll and pass this on to me?" She peeks at him through her fingers. He’s holding out a soggy manuscript. "I’ve had a lot of time to think bein’ locked up and bored out of my skull and I’ve come up with some great stuff. If you could just pass it along to me out there that’d be fantastic…" She takes it from him and he holds onto it for a moment looking into her eyes. "I think you’ll like it — it’s about a young Greek god whose kiss can move mountains and a lovely young thing who’s punished by the Gods for her unearthly beauty…" He lets go of the manuscript and sinks back down into the tub, closing his eyes with a smile. "Everything she touches withers and dies…" 

-/-

Jean locks the bathroom door and turns to look at her. "Are you okay? You look upset."

"Gambit’s next." 

She doesn’t say anything else. She takes a deep breath, shoves her hair behind her ears and sets off down the hallway back to the room, knowing he’s waiting for her there. Her heart is thumping in her chest. She feels guilty and angry. She wants to beg his forgiveness and beat the shit out of him. She wants to kiss him. She wants to shake him. She-

"Rogue…" Her hand pauses over the doorknob as she looks back over her shoulder. "He can touch you like I can. I’m not sure how long it’ll take before he won’t be able to anymore but… just know that and be careful. I’ll be right out here if you need me."

"He won’t hurt me, Jean."

"Just be careful."

-/-

She opens the door to the bedroom, steps inside.

He’s not there.

The only light in the room comes from the window and the memories reflected back at her. 

Remy’s memories.

Her face flickers in the glass, Belle’s. 

Blue eyes turn green, gold hair, mahogany. His fingers in that hair, those eyes closed, that mouth…

Those lips that taste like sun-ripened strawberries, lips that taste like a lie.

_"Ah don't hafta t'touch ya. Ah believe ya Remy…"_

An arm hooks around her waist, pulling her onto the bed.

His weight pushes her into the mattress. She doesn’t fight him. She believes what she said to Jean.

He stares down at her, a lock of hair falls, brushes her cheek.

"I don’ love you."

"Ah know."

"You didn’ hurt me. I don’ care enough about you t’be hurt."

She swallows, staring right back.

"Same here."

"Good."

"Good."

She looks away. He cups her cheek in his palm making her look at him. His hand is warm, gloveless.

She feels his power seep into her, an electric current chasing her blood.

He lets go and for just a moment the weight of his body disappears as he flickers and fades before he is heavy again, solid and shaking his head. He pushes off her and leaves her lying on the bed.

She stares up at the ceiling, listens to him open the closet door and shut it behind him. 

"Jean…"

She doesn’t hear her come in, but suddenly she is sitting beside her on the bed.

"Ah’m ready to leave now."

"Everything taken care of?"

"Ah think so." Jean smiles and stands.

"Good. I have to go too, but I’ll wait to make sure you get out okay if you want."

She sits up and looks at her.

"Jean, ya do know ya one of ‘em right?"

"One of whom?"

"The psyches…" Jean pauses then laughs.

"No, I’m not."

"Ah watched ya leave Jean. The first time Ah met ya here. Ah watched ya go back to y'body…"

"But…"

"Jean-"

She doesn’t say anything but pushes up off the ground trying to prove her wrong. She stops abruptly when she reaches the ceiling, her power flaring around her. She looks down.

"You’re keeping me here… it’s you…"

"Ah wish Ah could let ya go, but it doesn’ work like that… Ya know it doesn’..."

Jean slowly drifts back down, sinks to her knees beside the bed.

"I couldn’t reach anyone before when I tried… not the professor…not Scott…" Her eyes fill with tears. "Scott…"

"Ya with him Jean, ya with each other. Ya woke up, Ah swear." She sits down beside her, touches her shoulder. "Ah’m… Ah’m sorry."

Jean doesn’t say anything for a long moment. She stares at the floor where her memories had swirled beneath their feet. Rogue closes her eyes and brings them back.

The floorboards become milky, transparent. Once again Jean’s entire world is there. Jean looks up from it and into her eyes. She touches Rogue’s bare hand giving her her power. 

"To make getting back a little easier," she says flickering for a moment.

"Thank you," she whispers and the redhead nods, closing her eyes as she slips down beneath the floorboards and into the stars.

The floor becomes solid, and a shimmering pink line in the shape of one of Pyro’s firebirds decorates it for a moment as Jean’s voice fills the empty bedroom with "You know where I’ll be if you need me, Rogue…"

She stands. 

All she has to do is think herself out just like the last time. She can feel Jean’s power waiting for her. She uses it to open the closet door Gambit has locked behind him and she steps inside.

There are only two boxes there now. One for Bruce and one for…

"Who’s in dere?" Gambit comes up beside her and she shakes her head. She doesn’t know… She approaches the box slowly, reaches out a hand to touch it. There are more chains around this one that the others. She hadn’t noticed it before. She takes her hand back suddenly afraid.

She doesn’t want to know who’s inside.

She turns to go.

Gambit is sitting on Bruce’s box watching her.

"Ya don’t have to be in here ya know," she says quietly.

"I figured it’s de farthes’ away I can get from y’."

"I’ll be okay if-"

"I ain’t doin’ it f’ _you_." He slides off the box and turns his back on her, walks into the darkness and throws over his shoulder, "Lock de door b’hind y’Rogue."

-/-

There’s a knock on her door.

She opens her eyes.

She listens for the voices but there’s no sound. Her mind is clear. She sits up and stretches wondering how long she's been out as outside her window the sun sinks below the horizon and spills its dying light across the city. 

She goes to her door, opens it.

No one is there.

She looks down.

An orange sits on a plate with a note that says _"I’m sorry."_

She takes the orange and carries it with her down the hall to Dominick’s room.

She knocks and pushes open the door when his muffled voice says, "Come in."

He’s lying on his bed on his back, his hands folded neatly on his chest. He crooks his neck to look at her standing in his doorway.

"Am Ah botherin’ ya?"

"No." He sits up as she comes in. She holds the orange between her two hands like something delicate, easily crushed, and studies the paintings hanging unframed on his wall. She’s not really sure why she’s here. She’s not sure she trusts him any more than she does Mystique, but she wants to thank him for the orange. She’s not going to apologize for threatening him. "These are beautiful," she says nodding at the paintings. "Were these your ‘welcome to The Brotherhood’ gift?" 

"No, they’re mine." She leans closer, notices the signature laced in with the swirling jewel blue water.

"You painted these?"

"Yes."

She looks at the next painting, the blinding white building with a cerulean dome and a single solitary cross at the top stamped into the sky.

"Is this Greece?" she asks looking back at him.

"Yes — Santorini."

"Do ya miss it?"

"Not lately." He’s looking at her so intently she doesn’t know how to respond.

She looks down at her orange, says "thank you" for it.

"I thought you might be hungry."

"Ah am." He gets up from the bed, comes to her and her back is to the wall, nowhere to go. She tenses and he stops, looking sad.

"I thought he was the reason you were holding back. That’s why I lied." He shakes his head, closes his eyes. "He’s not worth your… concern, Rogue. He’s not worth it."

"Ah think that’s f’me ta decide, Dom."

"Look, I lied to you and I’m sorry but… we needed you. What’s going on here… it’s more important than that assho-" he stops, coughs. "It’s important." 

She takes a deep breath and steps away from him. There’s nowhere for the conversation to go and she’s too tired and fed up to start arguing all over again about how _wrong_ it all is.

He reaches out and carefully touches her arm, stopping her. "But you are too… You… I consider you a friend and it was wrong how I… manipulated you." He takes his hand back, shoves it into his pocket.

"Ah thought of you as a friend too, Dom… Ah…ah still do."

"She’s your friend too, you know. I know you feel used right now but… Rogue, she’s talked about you for years and not just in terms of how you can help us. She honestly does care about you. She really does want to help you. She really does want to help all of us…"

"The cost’s too high, Dom.She’s turned you into a killer." She looks at him standing before her and he looks so young, too young. "That’s not who ya are…" 

_Ya should be paintin’ the ocean, the sunset. Ya hands should be instruments of beauty, not destruction…_

"Ya don’t belong here any more than Ah do."


	14. Recruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:_   
>  [Nothing (Lifestyle Of A Tortured Artist For Sale) - The Dandy Warhols](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OS3OngN0Vo0)

_"How did you find us?"_

_"I have m’methods."_

_"What the hell are you doing here, LeBeau?"_

_"As I’ve already explained to de pretty lady," he drawls barely acknowledging Dominick with a glance before turning back to Raven, "I wan’ join y’lil operation..."_

Dominick had come to her ten minutes ago to inform her of a meeting in Mystique’s office. 

"New recruit" was all he’d said. 

The last person she had expected to see was Remy LeBeau. 

She’d felt him a split second before she stepped inside the office and had stopped so suddenly Dominick had rammed into her. His shoulders had tensed when he felt her too and she had watched him fight with his body for a moment to stay relaxed, careless, unaffected by her presence.

It was easier for him to get himself under control, he’d known she’d be here. She hadn’t had the chance to prepare herself and had stood frozen in the doorway, her mouth gaping open, her heart thudding painfully in her chest, blinking madly because it couldn't possibly be him. Not _here_.

But it was. 

And he looked okay. 

Better than okay. 

He looked strong, beautiful, dangerous. He’d be an asset to the team was what he had been saying…

_"Why?" Rogue whispers and he tenses imperceptibly for the second time since she entered the room._

_She hasn’t said a word until now and he has not looked at her once._

_He still doesn’t as he responds to her question._

_"Dey kick me out."_

_"So you thought you’d come here?" Raven watches him from over her fingertips gently pressed against each other, her elbows resting on the arms of her chair. He shrugs._

_"’M better suited f’dis gig anyway. De speeches ‘ole One-Eye gave were nice an’ all but issa pipe dream. I’ve lived in de real worl’. I know what iss really like, an I know it ain’ wort’ de effort of protectin’ people who sooner spit on y’den tank ya." He flashes a grin and leans towards her. "I rather be on de winnin’ team anyway."_

_Raven regards him coolly for a long moment._

_Rogue holds her breath. Pyro flips his lighter faster, faster, dying to roast him, waiting for Mystique to give him the go-ahead, while Dominick stands as still and silent as a statue._

_"You’ll have to prove yourself."_

_Click-clack goes the lighter._

_"What the fuck? You’re not serious-"_

_"When I want your opinion, Mr Allerdyce, I’ll give it to you." Raven gets up from her desk. "You’ll have to be initiated-"_

_"Ah’ll do it," Rogue says quietly. And he looks at her then. His eyes flicker once and he quickly turns back to Raven who nods._

_"I’ll show you to the training room, Mr LeBeau."_

_He follows Raven without another glance in her direction and Dominick says, "I don’t think you should."_

_She watches him go, silent._

_"Rogue, I’ll do it-"_

_"_ I’ll _do it, Petros– he beat you last time-" St. John cuts in._

_"Rogue-"_

_She turns to him and forces a smile._

_"Ah know all his moves, Dom. Don’t worry ‘bout me."_

_He ain’t gonna be a part of this if Ah can help it…_

_"Tell Mystique Ah'll be there in a minute… Ah gotta do sumthin' firs'."_

She lies down on her bed, closes her eyes tight and tries to calm herself enough to get in.

_He's alive…_

He's alive and well and she hasn't slept through the night in over a month.

Every time she closes her eyes she’s in his bed again, naked beneath him. The gauze dissolves with a kiss and then his mouth is on hers but there’s no darkness. He just becomes… heavy. Too heavy. And when she opens her eyes he’s pale, so pale, his mouth open, frozen in a scream. No fire in those eyes, no warmth in that skin. No breath whispering across her flesh, no heartbeat, no sound, just a deafening silence and her own scream like white noise.

Every night she kills him. 

And Dominick knocks on her door when her cries wake him. He slips into her room and sits on the edge of her bed and gently places his hand on her foot over the covers and says, _"It's okay, Rogue… shhh… shhh… it's okay…"_ He stays there all night, in a chair, or on the floor. She listens to his sleeping breath wondering if Remy is out there somewhere, if he’s dreaming, if he’s awake. Or if he’s surrounded by darkness and only living in her memories, in her mind...

And now here he is.

Perfectly healthy, perfectly ready to switch alliances because he needs a room. He doesn't give a shit about mutant-human relations, he doesn't care who ends up on top as long as he's got a place to stay and a steady supply of cards, cigarettes and women.

He has no idea what they're going to ask of him here.

And she's going to make sure he never does.

She opens her eyes and she’s back in the bedroom. 

She approaches the battered closet door and it swings open in welcome. She steps into the darkness and calls out his name.

" _GAMBIT!_ "

Her voice echoes, shakes the empty air. 

He’s not there.

_Shit…_

She turns to go and starts when she finds him standing right behind her, his eyes flashing, his mouth a hard line.

"Why should I help you?" he says.

"B’cause believe it or not Ah’m tryin’ ta help _you_. Ya don’t know what ya gettin’ inta."

"I tink I know ‘xactly what I’m do-"

She doesn’t have time to argue. 

She grabs him, she kisses him full on the mouth. 

He resists for a grand total of two seconds. 

His hands on her shoulders stop pushing. They cup, they grip, and her kiss is still hard, still rough but it's being returned. He holds her so tightly it almost hurts and her fists curled into the neck of his shirt bruise her collarbone as she presses herself even harder against him. 

He flows into her, warm and electric and he makes no move to end the transfer. His fingers tangle in her hair, his arm curves around her waist as they kiss. His power thrums through her body white-hot and glowing beneath her skin until she’s full to bursting. For a moment she considers letting him consume her, letting him burn her up until all that’s left is a pile of ash.

_Ash…_

Pyro.

Pyro will fight in her place if she doesn’t get back soon and Gambit will win.

That can’t happen.

She shoves with all her might and he flickers like the last time as they break contact.

They stare at each other breathing hard. 

His voice is husky when he says, "Y’ain’ gon’ win, _chere_ ," and she closes her eyes, thinking herself out of her head as she murmurs, "Ah let them get t’ya once… it ain’t gonna happen agin. Ah’m gonna keep ya safe whether ya like it or not…"

_An' if Ah hafta use ya own power against ya ta do it… so be it, sugah…_

She opens her eyes, gets up from the bed in one graceful movement and pulls his trench coat out from the back of her closet. She slips a hand in the pocket and pulls out the deck of cards. Her fingers tingle at the touch of the smooth surface, the light sheen of plastic just begging to be charged and melted away. She feels his power surging towards her fingertips and she stops it.

_Not yet._

She tucks the cards into the pouch on her belt. All she has to do is tag his ankle and it’ll be over. She doesn’t have to hurt him again, all she has to do to end it is tag him and they’ll send him away.

They’ll send him away. 

Her step falters and the determination that had been surging through her just moments before fizzles.

She thinks of the stolen kiss that gave her his power. She had been the one to keep it angry because it was what she had expected from him… but just before she pushed him away he had tried to soften it, to slow it down… and the way he had looked at her just before she left him…

She pushes her hair out of her face, secures it with a band and whips open the door.

_It don’t make no difference if he f'gave me..._

_This_ Gambit, the one casually leaning against the wall of the training room and absently running through a few card tricks while he waits for his chance to blow her up is the real Gambit.

And the real Gambit despises her.

He can barely even look at her.

She glances up at Raven in the booth with Pyro and Avalanche. Raven holds up five fingers and the lights dim.

5…

"They tell ya what ya gotta do?" She tries to keep her voice steady, hard.

4…

"Yah." He pushes off the wall, comes to her. 

3…

He leans down to her, his breath kissing her cheek. She closes her eyes. "I gotta touch…"

2…

"Y’ankle."

1…

His bo-staff appears out of nowhere and he sweeps it under her feet. She backflips over it, twisting her body to avoid the chunk of floor shooting up towards the ceiling, and turns a cartwheel before whipping back around to face him.

He’s gone.

The lights flicker and die. 

She reaches into the pocket on her belt and pulls out a card, charging it and holding it between her fingers as she searches the darkness for him. The pale pink glow throws just enough light for her to see where she is going and she hops over the gash in the floor in front of her easily enough, her footsteps barely making a sound. 

_Where are ya…_

The lights turn back on and his shadow suddenly appears on the floor before her. She tosses the card behind her, over his head, and the explosion sends them both flying. She turns towards him in the air, trying to keep sight of him. He’s sailing along right behind her.

He’s laughing. 

She grabs him by the collar of his coat and flips him around so he’ll get the brunt of the wall. The faster he’s knocked out the easier it will be to tag him. 

He whips another card at the wall as she does it and immediately flips them back. It crumbles and they crash into the rubble, a tangle of arms and legs.

He presses her down into the floor, the chunks of cinderblock pushing uncomfortably into her spine. She bites her lip against wincing and he stares down at her, his body familiarly heavy, his mouth slipping into that easy grin.

She tries to shove him off and he tightens his grip around her wrists, presses himself down harder. She stops fighting. Being so close to him… being exactly where she was just before it all fell apart… it makes her eyes water, her heart clench.

_"I'll give you m'heart if you want it… I know you tink I'm a liar…But I'm not. Not dis time. Not wit you…"_

He tosses his hair out of his eyes, a shower of dust rains down on her face.

_"Not wit you…"_

"You good, _chere_ …"

A hot tear slides down her cheek and she hates herself for it.

"Not as good as you though huh, Remy?"

She looks up at him, into his face just inches from her own, into his eyes. The cocky smile fades, the hard grip loosens. His lips part, he takes a breath about to speak and she swings her fist. It breaks free of his hold and cracks against his jaw. He falls back off of her and she dives for his foot. 

He spreads his legs and she misses, tumbles back up against his chest. He pushes her off, getting to his feet and she rolls out of the way as a piece of ceiling lands where they had been.

"I dunno, _chere_ , I say y’hol’ y’own." 

The dust floats around her once again, thick and impenetrable. She can’t see him anymore.

"Stop callin’ me _chere_!" She yells turning towards his voice.

The left…the left…

"What de fuck m’I s’posed t’call y’den? Y’never gave me y’name!"

The right now? He’s on her right…?

She picks up a metal pole from the ground, yanks it out of the loosened cement.

"It’s _Rogue_!"

She hears the flapping of his coat as he flies through the air and jumps back, his foot narrowly missing her head. The dust finally settles and he rises out of it, the bo-staff in his hand elongating again with a faint _shuck_. 

"We gon' stick t’code names?" He smacks his chest with his free hand and says "Fine - _Gambit_."

She holds her pole close as they begin to circle each other. Blood trickles down her neck from the back of her head where she hit the floor. Her muscles ache, but she automatically pushes all the pain to the back of her mind as he has done. Her vision blurs for a moment, her eyes stinging, and she shakes her head, trying to stay clear.

He lunges at her then and she quickly brings her pole up blocking his move. She shoves him back, whipping the end at him and he leaps over it easily before coming at her again.

"Bet y'were surprised t'see _me,_ eh?" 

_ Cling. _

"M'like a cat -" 

_ Clang. _

"Got me at leas' six lives left, so you get de urge t'lay one on me agin' feel free -"

_ Cling. _

"Y'talkin' like Ah tried ta kill ya!" she snarls as the blow of his staff on hers shudders up her wrists.

"Didn'ya?"

" _You_ kissed _me!_ " 

"An' y' really fended me off huh?"

She throws all her weight onto him. He stumbles and she gets him up against the wall, his own staff pressed against his Adam's apple. 

"It was an _accident_!" She pushes harder, her eyes burning and blurring."Ya _knew_ Ah'd be here Gambit… _why_ did you come if…"

_If ya hate me so much…_

"Mebbe 'cause I still wan’ y’so bad I can taste it…" he rasps.

He slips his leg between hers, smiles seductively even as he fights for breath... 

She wants to _kill_ him.

"Sorry, Cajun, " she chokes, "Ain't gonna work a second time…"

"It always works."

He suddenly hooks his leg around hers and squeezes until her knee buckles.

He shoves her back, and the piece of floor she lands on lifts her up, up to the ceiling. She turns her head to see Dominick in the booth, his hands pressed against the glass, his eyes worried. She looks over the ledge and Gambit is climbing up the side. 

She rolls off and grabs onto him as she freefalls, taking him with her.

_Oh mah God!_

"Shiiiit!" 

_Ya can't fly ya idiot!_

"Merde!"

They'd been too high up, they’re coming down too fast, too hard…and once her head hits that floor…

She closes her eyes, waits for it.

And then he turns them. 

He shifts his weight so he is on the bottom. She looks down at him and he looks up at her and an instant before they hit the ground she cups her hands under his head.

She cries out as her knuckles punch the floor, her face crashing into his chest. 

They lay there for a long moment, neither of them speaking, barely breathing. 

He coughs.

"Rogue…?"

His hands cup her shoulder blades, his lips at the top of her head. He gently rolls them over. He is above her again and she opens her eyes as something drops against her throat. She touches it, wincing at her broken fingers, and looks.

A quarter.

It hangs from a thin silver chain around his neck.

Jean Luc’s quarter.

He’s kept it all these years. He went back to that horrible place to find it after Storm had saved him… 

Her face suddenly fills her mind, her sky blue eyes, her deep voice saying _"You're a good man, Remy LeBeau… even if you don't believe it, I do, my friend. You belong here with us…"_

_Jean snorting behind her hands…_

_Betsy rolling her eyes, hiding a smile…_

_Hank laughing out loud…_

_Bobby slapping him on the back…_

_Logan tossing him a basketball, a beer…_

_Scott holding out his hand for him to shake…_

Whether he deserved it or not they had all given him a chance. 

_"You're a good man, Remy LeBeau…"_

Storm believed in him like Jean Luc had believed in him and that meant something to him. She knew it did. 

She knows it does.

_He hasn't switched sides at all…_

He takes the quarter from her and tucks it back beneath his collar.

"Guess m'down t'five, neh?" he whispers.

"Gambit…"

His hand on her hip now, sliding down her thigh to her knee, carefully hoisting it up over his hip…

"Remy…" 

He keeps his eyes on hers, flicker flicker burn, as his hand slowly travels down her calf…

And wraps around her ankle.

"Tag."


	15. Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Shade of Blue - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4r5cJ816ZsQ)  
> [Different Stars - Tresspassers William](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbsZuZ63NVI)_

Raven bandages her fingers. She broke two on her left hand and one on her right. She can’t even feel them anymore.

"It should have been a lot worse — you hit the ground really hard…" Dominick watches as Raven finishes and he sits down beside her. "I don’t know how the hell that guy was able to just get up after that fall…"

"Why didn’t you just touch him and have done with it?" St. John sulks in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her.

"Ah thought Ah could do it withou-"

"Well you couldn’t and now we’re stuck with him!"

"Shut up, Pyro," Dominick mutters. "I don’t like him either, but he’s a good fighter, he can be a big help to us." He looks at Raven for confirmation and she says nothing as she studies Rogue.

"Are you glad he’s here?" she asks.

"No."

"Shall I send him away?" 

"Would you?"

She doesn’t answer.

Rogue slides off the table shaking her head. 

"Rogue?"

She hits the button next to the door with her elbow.

"What."

It swishes open.

"He’s here on a trial basis. I want you to keep an eye on him — all of you. The second his loyalty is called into question he’s done, is that understood?"

"Done as in "y'membership’s bein’ revoked" or done as in "dead"?"

Raven gathers up the supplies and puts them back in the cabinet.

"I’m sure you’re exhausted," she says. "Why don’t you go get some rest." 

-/-

She goes to the roof, the pool.

She climbs up onto the new diving board and lays down on it, staring up at the sky. She watches a satellite slowly making its way across the cloudy night and finds herself missing Mississippi for the first time. She could always see the stars so clearly back home. It’s hard to here, there’s too much smog and she misses them sometimes, those tiny pinpricks of light stretching out as far as she could see, a pathway to planets, galaxies, universes. She used to lie awake and count them until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer and she’d fall asleep against the windowpane above her bed… and then later on the Bennett’s back porch wrapped up in Julia’s afghan. She had been so young then…

She can’t remember what it feels like to be that young. 

She had never really been happy long enough to get a clear grasp on the feeling, but she thinks she can say with certainty that she had been with the Bennetts. She had been with Remy too, she thinks. The moments they had had together were brief, but he had made her feel something she hadn’t felt since Julia and Jed had welcomed her into their home. 

Hope.

She had started to feel like maybe everything would be alright like maybe _she_ would be alright... 

She knows better now. 

But at least maybe life can be simple again. It’ll never be good, but if she could just get away from all of this… maybe she could go back and just start all over again…

_But ya hafta fix things first…_

_Ya hafta figure out a way ta get Deborah outta here b'fore Mystique makes ya hurt somebody… Things have been quiet for a while but that ain’t gonna last forever… sooner or later she’s gonna send ya out an' if ya can't do it she might…_

_No._

_Don’t even think about it. Ya’ll get her out b'fore anythin’ happens… At least now ya have an idea where she might be…_

She had been trying to figure out where Raven was keeping her for weeks. She had snuck into her office more than once searching for anything that might give her a clue and had come up with nothing until yesterday morning. Raven had left her alone in the office for a moment when Irene had called for her. She had quickly sifted through the papers on her desk and had found a receipt for this month’s rent.

Raven was paying via an alias for the floor below the penthouse as well, and that afternoon she had discovered it was completely off-limits. The elevator didn’t stop on the floor at all. No matter how many times she had pushed the button it had sailed past without stopping. She was convinced that that was where she was being kept. Mystique would want to keep her close just in case.

_That’s where she is, Ah know it… Ah just hafta figure out a way ta get in… but how…_

Gambit.

Gambit would know…

_God, what’s he doin’ here…_

_Did he really come on his own or did Mystique find him? Offer him a place with us in some misguided attempt to keep me happy? Or is he here for the X-Men… workin’ undercover…_

_If he is maybe he would help me…_

_No. He ain’t gonna trust me enough to tell me if he is or not… and besides if Raven found out Ah was tryin’ ta get the X-men’s help she’d do sumthin’ drastic…_

_Ah hafta get ta her on mah own. Ah ain’ got no right ta ask Gambit fo’ nothin’ anyway..._

She closes her eyes, feeling the heat from the pool below curl up in wisps of steam as the cool air kisses the surface, and starts to drift. She imagines herself being lifted up into the sky, cradled by the wind that’ll carry her away as the water swishes below, softly, soothingly. She falls asleep under the satellites and faded city stars, promising herself that soon Deborah will be free and all this will be just another bad memory.

-/-

She opens her eyes.

The full moon sits high above her, a blinding white that stings. She stares up at it for as long as she can before her eyes begin to water and when she turns her head away she notices a haphazard line of clothes leading to the pool’s edge as though someone had stripped them off as they walked.

"Hello?" she calls out and no one answers. She yawns, rubbing at her eyes with the heels of her palms and lazily rolls over onto her stomach careful not to jostle her hands too much. She reaches out to the water, her cheek resting on her arm, her lips against her wrist. She trails her un-bandaged fingers in the warm water and yanks them back, lifting her head as she hears someone break the surface. 

Remy. 

He pushes his hands through his damp hair and she watches the muscles in his back bunch and release. She thinks about feigning sleep until he leaves but his head turns just the slightest bit and it’s already too late. He knows she’s awake. He sinks back down below the water and does another lap, his body long and lean and waving beneath the clear water, his tanned skin looking pale under the moonlight. 

He’s naked. 

She refuses to give him the satisfaction of being uncomfortable and doesn’t look away when he surfaces again, below her now. She keeps her eyes on his as he tilts his face up to her. 

He shakes his hair out of his eyes and she looks at his mouth, at the one corner hitched higher than the other in a permanent smirk. She remembers the way it felt, open as it touched her shoulders, her breasts, his warm breath through the gauze making her shiver. She remembers kissing that smirk away and his voice deep and rich like chocolate, drawling a lazy sweep of words...

"Dey hurt?"

She blinks, "Huh?"

He nods at her hands and she shakes her head. "Ah’m so pumped fulla painkillers Ah can’t feel nuthin’… Are you… Ah mean do you?"

"Feel someting?" He stares at her. "Nope. Not a ting."

She swallows, looks at the bruises like shadows on his arms.

"We hit th’ground pretty hard…"

"Yeh."

"Why’d ya turn us?"

"Why’dja break y’fingers?" 

"Why ya really here?"

"I tol’ ya why."

She shakes her head.

"Ya not gonna betray them by bein’ here jus’ cuz ya need a place t’stay."

"How d'you know?"

She looks at the quarter glittering beneath the water from the chain around his neck, she reaches out to touch it and he leans back watching her. 

"Because ya loyal."

"Dey kicked me out. Ain’ got no loyalties t’nobody no mo’."

"What about Storm?"

"She jus’ like you — she don’ put out. Issa waste a’ time." 

She doesn’t even blink.

"Ah saw in y'head, Ah know y'care about them."

"S’funny — y’been in dere _twice_ an' you still don’ know a ting ‘bout me. I care f’as long as I need to an' den I don’."

"That’s not true."

He shrugs disinterestedly.

"Ah know ya wanna be better than that." 

"You don’ know what I wan’."

_Well that’s true…_

She sits up, her legs on either side of the board, her bare feet slipping below the warm water. She stares down at her hands, feeling him watch her, feeling the wall that’s been erected between them, made of ice, made of stone. She can feel it getting bigger, thicker, higher.

"Why couldn’ ya have jus’ tol’ me…" she whispers almost to herself and he says, just as quietly, "Tol’ ya what?"

"That ya _knew_. None of this would have happened…"

"None o’ what?"

" _This_ — ya bein’ _here_ in this _place_ … this is a bad… Why couldn’ ya jus’ have been hones’ with me, that ya didn’ really-"

He laughs humorlessly.

"You gonna start talkin’ t’me ‘bout honesty? You tried to seduce _me_ , _che_ -Rogue. Y’knew I wan'ed you and y’used it. God knows I done de same ting plenty o’ times so iss a lil hypocritical o’ me to be mad at you ‘bout it, but y’know what? I don’ care if it does make me a hypocrite. I been calle’ a lot wors’ in m’time."

He looks away, finished with talking, and she sits there for a moment longer, letting it sink in that this is how it’s going to be between them now. She scoots back on the board until she gets to the deck and stands at the edge  of the pool watching him tread water, thinking she should just leave, just turn and go like he obviously wants her to. 

But she wants to tell him. She needs to tell him…

"What?"

"It _was_ an accident…" She speaks to the water, the jewel blue tiles beneath. "Ah’d decided Ah couldn’ go through with it by then."

"Only ’cause I got y’tinkin’-"

She lifts her hand, cutting him off.

"Believe what ya want. Ah don’t care anymore. Ah can’t…"

_It hurts too much…_

"Ah jus’ wanted ya ta know that's all."

She does turn to go then and when she hears him lift himself out of the pool, his feet slapping the concrete as he comes after her she doesn’t stop. She keeps going, she leaves him.

-/-

Midnight. 

A knock on her door.

She says, "come in" and Dominick slips inside.

"I was worried," he says.

"Ah didn’ have a nightmare…"

"I know. You were too quiet." H e sits down on her floor, leans against her bed and smiles up at her.  "Truthfully, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve gotten too used to your snoring…"

"Excuse _me_ , _Ah_ do _not_ snore."

"Yes, you do. Repeatedly."

She smacks him with a pillow and he grabs it from her, his hand almost brushing her skin and she freezes. He doesn’t even pause. He steals her pillow and stretches out on the floor. 

He’s never been afraid of her touching him. Ever. St. John always keeps an eye on her when she’s around. So does Mystique. But never Dominick. He trusts her. It’s a nice feeling. An unfamiliar one, but nice.

"Dom?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." He looks up at her from the floor, smiles.

"What for?"

"Just…thanks."

They’re both quiet, listening to each other breathe as they’ve done many nights before, until Dominick sighs, "I have to ask you something."

"What?"

"Don’t be mad."

She sticks her head over the edge of the bed. His eyes are closed tight.

"What is it?"

"Did you lose on purpose?"

"D'ya think Ah did?"

He opens his eyes but doesn’t answer. She bites her lip and says honestly, "Ah was too drained ta keep goin’... The power Ah re-absorbed didn’ last as long as Ah thought it would… So no, Dom. Ah didn’ let him win. Ah don’ want him here any more than you do."

"You sure?" She’s quiet for a long moment and he says quickly, "I’m not asking because I care if you still… it’s none of my business… I just…" he takes a deep breath, turns his head away, blushing slightly. "Never mind." She stares down at him uncertainly.

"Dom…"

_ "...it’s about a young Greek god whose kiss can move mountains and a lovely young thing who’s punished by the Gods for her unearthly beauty… Everything she touches withers and dies…" _

"Yeah?"

_Just ask… when he says "no" ya can both hava good laugh ‘bout what an idiot ya are…_

"Ya don’t… Ah mean…" she laughs once, already embarrassed.  "Ya don’t… have feelin's f’me…?" She tries to keep her voice light, teasing.

He keeps his head turned, his eyes shut.

"Of course I do."

_Oh._

"Dom-"

"It’s okay, Rogue," he says. "I know where I stand with you and I’m fine with that. I just want you to be happy…"

She doesn’t know what to say. Her throat hurts and she wishes she could reach out to him, she wishes she felt for him… It would be so much easier if…

"Things aren’t gonna be weird are they?" he asks suddenly. "Cuz if they are I’m not really here you know — this is a dream. A very bizarre dream with no basis in reality whatsoever…" 

She puts her hand over his heart, feels it beating beneath the thin cotton of his shirt and says, "Ah don’t know what Ah’d do without ya, Dom…"

"Same here, Rogue," he murmurs, "Same here…"

"Got mah back?"

He smiles. Every training session, even when they’re against each other they always say it.

"Got ya back."


	16. Prisoner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Talk Show Host - Radiohead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V1HM7t1z9D8)  
> [Gravity - Dresden Dolls](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vz7NAVYIT_k)_

“He’s good.”

Raven nods at the monitor that displays Gambit’s fingers as they nimbly work a lock and pop another door. He hasn’t stopped for more than three seconds at each one he’s encountered so far, and the com unit with the tiny built-in camera has caught every movement he’s made since he entered the office building.

They watch him slink down the dark corridor through the monitor on Pyro’s badge, unconsciously graceful, elegant, soundless. A shadow’s shadow. He won’t be seen unless he wants to be.

Rogue shrugs.

“He’s an expert.”

And he is completely insulted that Pyro has been sent in with him.

_“Trus’ me, I do dis kinna stuff better on m’own.”_

_“We’re sending you after some very important information. We need to be sure you will bring it back to us. You’re still on probation, which means you need supervision.”_

_“So who’s gon’ do de babysittin’ den? De guy in de_ **_bright yellow_ ** _uniform - very discreet by de way - o’ de kid who can crack rocks? Dat’ll be helpful, “stealth” bein’ de key word an all when you robbin’ somebody...”_

_“I can’t let you have Rogue, she’s not at 100 percent right now.”_

_“Who said I wan’ de femme? I wan’ go on m’own.”_

_“We’ve been through this-”_

_“Fine, fine. I take Big Bird den - if he get us caught, I can at least make m’escape while de cops’re laughin’ dey asses off...” He shakes his head at a fuming Pyro. “Honestly, homme, what were y’tinkin’?_

Gambit holds a disc up over his shoulder between two fingers, turns and blows a kiss at Pyro’s monitor before slipping past him and out the door.

Pyro growls into his com unit, “We’re done.”

Mystique flicks off the monitor with a satisfied smile.

“I should thank you, Rogue - he’s proven to be a real asset to the team.”

“Why thank me? Ah didn’t-”

“He sought us out because of you. You let him win the-”

“Fo’ th’ _last_ time, Ah did _not_ let him win!” Mystique raises a skeptical eyebrow, lifts her chin. Rogue clenches her fists. “Ah know ya don’t wanna hear it, Raven, but Ah don’t particularly _like_ havin’ voices in mah head and if Ah can avoid it Ah will.”

“Even if it means losing someone you care about?”

Rogue looks away from those storm-cloud eyes, the slight edge to her voice, that warning. She focuses on the flat screen on the wall, remembers the gut-twisting shock of seeing Deborah there, furiously pounding on the door of her prison, sinking to her knees, crying to be let out...

Raven watches her face, waits for an answer, and she mutters, “Maybe... ’Specially if that someone’s already lost.” She turns away from the screen, the memory of Deborah’s tears, and glares at Raven still studying her. “How do Ah know ya didn’ kill her, Raven? Ya don’t let me see her, talk to her... ya could have me on a leash fo’ as long as ya wan’...”

“You saw that she was perfectly fine-”

“Yeah, _once_. _Weeks_ ago. Do ya think Ah’m stupid? Fo’ all Ah know that coulda been a tape - ya coulda taped her and then killed her-”

“Rogue, Deborah is fine.”

“Prove it.”

Raven shrugs, flips on the flat screen, and Rogue slaps her hand on the power button turning it back off again.

“ _No_. Ah wanna see her. Ah mean it this time, Raven. Ya ain’ got no right expectin’ me ta take ya at y'word... Ya better give me somethin’ real or Ah’m done.”

Raven stares at her for a long moment. She smiles once, softly, murmurs, “Alright. You’ve been patient long enough. Now please get Irene while I find Dominick - the boys will be back soon.”

-/-

She hasn’t set foot inside Irene’s room since she first met the woman. It’s as dark as it was then, but there is no one inside now.

She should go and look for her, take her back to the office where the others will be waiting to go through the stolen files.

She goes straight for the books instead. She doesn’t know when she’ll get another opportunity, Irene rarely leaves her bedroom.

Trouble is brewing. She’s been feeling it for days. Aside from tonight’s meeting, Mystique has been leaving her alone for the most part, and she has kept her distance from everyone hoping that will continue, but she’s not stupid.

Mystique threatening Deborah again so blatantly has confirmed what she’s been fearing every minute of all those long hours alone in her room, alone on the roof.

Time is running out.

She pulls out volume twelve and quickly flips through it looking for that last page, the one that Irene had refused to show her.

Her throat tightens as she pauses on the one of her and Remy alone together in the subway car. It feels like a lifetime ago... two lifetimes ago. She looks at his chiselled profile, the dark sweep of his lashes as he looks down at her, and-

She turns the page.

She is standing beside a man that she has seen before in one of the other volumes. The man with the helmet. There are people at their feet. People lying dead amongst rubble and ash. She recognizes them.

Jean and Scott.

Betsy and Hank.

Bobby and Logan.

She slams the book shut.

“Rogue, what are you doing in here?” Irene’s soft voice from the doorway, calm as ever. She knows she’s seen and Rogue shivers inwardly because she seems unconcerned. As though it doesn’t matter anymore. Because it’s too late, it can’t be stopped now.

Things have already been set into motion.

She turns, looks into Irene’s eyes that see past her and says thickly, “Y'gonna hafta start a new book, Destiny - this one’s got a crap endin’.”

Irene doesn’t answer as she pushes the book back into its place, wipes her hands hard on her thighs as though she’s touched something dirty. Contaminated.

“Mystique sent me fo’ ya. They got the disc and they’ll be back soon. She wants us all to go through the files.”

“Rogue-”

She leaves the room, not waiting for Irene to follow, the image of herself and the man and what they will do now seared into her brain.

_You’ve been patient long enough..._

What Raven hadn’t said was, _“and so have I”_ , but Rogue had felt it there in the air between them.She’d _been_ feeling it.Raven is going to call on her soon.

And she needs to be sure, absolutely sure, that Deborah really is here, that her life really is in danger.

She’s not going to accept any excuses, she’s not going to wait another day. She’s not going to waste any more time hiding out in a solitude that she’s beginning to realize has been a gift.Raven’s last gift before she destroys her. She needs to know once and for all that the threat is real because she’s afraid the man will be coming soon and she needs to leave before that happens.

Because after that there’ll be no turning back.

-/-

“Asshole ditched me! Tossed me the disc and said he was “goin’ out” for a while and not to “wait up”!” 

Pyro plops down in front of the console and shoves the disc into the computer still muttering obscenities under his breath.

Dominick pushes a button on the wall and the Matisse slides up and behind a screen that comes forward.

Raven leans over Pyro’s shoulder and punches in a password. She opens the disc.

**MUTANT CONTROL AGENCY: Mutant Classification Files**

**Threat (46 on file)**

**Non-Threat (183 on file)**

“I don’t think I need to ask where to look first do I?” Pyro grins and double clicks on the 46.

5 images fill the screen.

“Mugshots,” he says and looks at Mystique who is standing before them, arms crossed, mouth pressed into a hard line.

“Next,” she says.

5 more images.

“Next.”

5 more.

“Again.”

Rogue watches the faces of mutant after mutant flash across the screen and holds her breath, hoping to God _he_ won’t be one of them. The man in the book. The murderer. Mystique had neglected to tell her the purpose of this mission other than “information retrieval”, but it’s becoming crystal clear. She was right. They have begun looking for him.

She watches Raven’s eyes boring into the screen with feverish expectancy. Watches them narrow in disbelief and then close as the last image stares out at them. 

Number 46 is a young man with golden hair, eyes as blue as the sky and a miserable slant to his mouth. Two graceful feathered curves rise from behind his shoulders, the tops of a pair of-

“Wings...” Rogue breathes coming closer to the screen, feeling almost giddy, lightheaded with relief that-

“He’s not here,” Raven says tightly and Irene shakes her head, reaches a hand out to rest on her shoulder, squeezes gently.

“They have him, I know they do. We will have to go back.”

“We got it all, Destiny.” Pyro leans back in his chair, shrugs. “Your boyo may be with them, but he ain’t on file.”

“Then we’ll have to find another way of locating him.” Raven turns away from the sad angel still frozen on the screen and faces them. “All we can do now is use what we have here. Pyro, you’re on recruiting detail. I want a complete list of possible fits culled from these files. Destiny and I will make the final decisions.” 

Pyro nods, his fingers already flying over the keyboard, and Rogue stands, blocking the door as Raven turns to go.

“Mystique...”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Raven says and turns her head slightly, looking over her shoulder at Dominick. “Petros, I think it’s time for you and Rogue to bring our guest her breakfast.”

Dominick freezes halfway up from his chair, his tanned skin paling as he looks at Rogue.

She stares back at him, giddy, lightheaded.

Nauseous.

-/-

She leans against the kitchen counter, watches him pour orange juice into a glass. She watches him scramble eggs, fry bacon, cut fruit.

He can’t even look at her.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he says.

She wants to scream at him, but all she can manage is a whisper.

“Ya lied ta me... All those times Ah asked ya if ya’d heard anythin’, seen anythin’. Ah thought she was _dead_. Mystique kept refusin’ ta let me see her...”

He looks up then, frowns. “You thought she-”

“Oh don’t act so surprised. Ah ain’ stupid an neither are you. Ah wouldn’ put it pas’ Mystique ta kill her but make sure she’s got just enough footage ta keep me convinced...”

“Raven hasn’t touched her Rogue, I promise. I’ve been taking care of her the whole ti-” He breaks off at the look on her face and tries again. “I won’t let anything happen to her. I know she means something to you.”

“Ya shoulda tol’ me.”

“I’m not stupid and neither are you,” he repeats somberly and places a flower in the plastic vase before lifting the tray. “Did you want Pyro to look after her? If I screw up he’s next in line.”

“It woulda been our secret-”

“There aren’t any secrets here. They know everything.Besides if I had told you then what? You’d try to break her out and I’d have to turn you in.”

She stares at him, stunned.

“C’mon,” he says gently and nudges her towards the door. “It’s okay now anyway, Raven says you can see her. Don’t hate me, Rogue... I told you I believe in what we’re doing here, you know that... and I care about you, you know I do...” He bites his lip, his brown eyes soft, distressed. “But if you go against her... I don’t want you to depend on me cause all I can do is let you down...”

“Ah can’t b’lieve y'sayin’ this... Ah thought... Ah thought ya got mah back...”

“I do.”

“Right. As long as Ah’m on y'team. Ah got it now.”

“Rogue, don-”

“Jus’ take me to her.”

-/-

She was right about the floor below the penthouse. Deborah has been here the whole time.

She follows Dominick into the elevator and watches as he punches in a number sequence using the floor’s buttons. He informs her that the codes change daily just in case she has any ideas about unsupervised visits.

“Raven told me to tell you that,” he says miserably as a square panel below the emergency button slides away. He presses his thumb against it and the elevator moves down one floor. Deborah’s floor.

He takes the tray from her as the doors slide open and leads her down the hall. The layout is almost identical to the penthouse, Deborah’s prison directly below Raven’s office.

She stares at Dominick’s back as he punches in yet another code. 

One more betrayal, one more friend turned enemy.

And she shouldn’t be surprised really. Hasn’t everything always turned out like this? Hasn’t she always trusted the wrong people? Done the wrong thing? Maybe that’s genetic too, another kind of curse that’s embedded into her DNA. Stupidity, naiveté.For someone who had spent most of her life keeping people at an arm’s length she had given her trust so easily, so quickly to Remy, to Raven and Irene, Dominick.

Why all of a sudden had she needed people when she hadn’t needed anyone before?

_Because ya didn’ wanna be alone no more... Because Deborah showed you what it’s like ta have a frien’, ta have someone ta talk ta an’ laugh with... ta have someone y'can be y'self with. Someone who knows who ya are, but sticks aroun’ anyway..._

And she’s grateful for that friendship, despite everything. She’s grateful for Deborah, and she swears to herself that she will do whatever it takes to keep her safe, but the drawing haunts her now.

Remy’s friends dead at her feet... their mouths frozen open in agony, their bodies stiff and twisted... 

It makes her stomach heave, her heart pound because she knows deep down it’s really going to come to that.

The door swishes open. Dominick steps aside, letting her in.

And suddenly there she is, lying on a bed, one arm flung over her eyes, the other hanging off the edge, her fingers trailing on the floor, really her, really Deborah. 

Dominick sets the tray down on the table and says softly, “We should go back upstairs. Maybe Raven’ll let you come back when she’s awake-”

She ignores him, pushes past him to the bed. She carefully sits down beside Deborah and brushes the dark curls back from her forehead with a gloved hand.

She doesn’t look like she’s been harmed in any way. Raven had told her the truth for once. 

She thinks about waking her but suddenly does not know what she would say. “I’m sorry” comes nowhere near...

She looks at Dominick with his head bowed, respectfully looking away, letting her have as much privacy with her friend as he is able. It crosses her mind that she can do it, take him down and make a run for it with Deborah right now...

_Ah can do it... Ah can-_

But there’s a camera bolted in the corner of the room.

_Shit._

And of course Raven is watching. Right now waiting for her to do it. She would lock down the elevators the second she removed a glove, and before she could formulate any other plan of escape the Brotherhood would be coming and they would probably kill them both on the spot.

And she can’t risk Deborah’s safety like that. No matter how much she wants all of this to be over.

She looks at Dominick trying so hard to be invisible and knows she doesn’t really want to hurt him anyway. He looks too distraught, too ashamed.

“Alright,” she whispers, “Ah’m satisfied that she’s okay.” She stands and makes a discreet sweep of the room from under her lashes as she turns to leave. 

_No windows, just th’one door... Which is a problem._

_Except..._

_There..._

_There against the far wall... right behind the bed...what...?_

Her eyes catch the faint rectangular outline of another door set so seamlessly into the wall she’s surprised she noticed it at all. Just a slight indentation she had thought at first was a trick of the dim light humming from the ceiling, but no...

_That’s definitely a door..._

“Do you want me to make you some breakfast too?” Dominick asks her as the cell door clicks shut behind them, and she mutters under her breath, “Ah don’t want anythin’ from you” as she makes her way down the corridor and back to the elevator.

-/-

She turns a corner and her body collides with Remy’s, the smell of leather and his cologne filling her mouth as she gasps into his shirt.

His hands grasp her elbows and hers automatically find his waist. And just as quickly they’re both letting go, jerking back into an awkward silence, the sudden cold of the hallway.

“Sorry.”

Silence. 

She hasn’t really seen him since that night at the pool. She thinks he’s been avoiding her too.

He clears his throat but makes no move to leave.

“So... we get what we needed from dose files?”

“No... They’re formulatin’ another plan far’s Ah know.”

“Dis Erik guy mus’ be pretty powerful i-”

“Erik?” 

_Is that his name?_

“Dey didn’ tell you ‘bout him?” he frowns, confused.

“They don’t tell me nothin’.”

“Oh, I see - You de _follow-de-orders-ask-no-questions_ type, eh?”

She glares at him.

“ _No_. They just don’t trust me. _You_ seem ta be fittin’ in jus’ _fine_ tho...” 

He grins, slouches against the wall with a shrug and scratches lazily behind his ear. Her eyes catch on the skin of his throat beneath his disrupted collar, the smudge of lipstick there like a blush, a bruise.

_“...said he was “goin’ out” for a while and not to “wait up”...”_

“Y'have a good time?” She can’t stop herself from asking, and his lips slip into another kind of smile as he murmurs, “Always,” and she stands there for a moment longer feeling stupid, still staring at his throat.

He wanted her to see, to know what he had been doing. That’s why he hadn’t simply kept on going after they’d rammed into each other. He had wanted her to see the mark on his body that someone else has made, he wants her to know that someone else’s mouth has been on his skin, has kissed and-

“Yeah. Well. Bye.” 

She steps around him and continues on down the hallway. 

She’s almost at her door but he stops her with, “Where ya been, Rogue?”, and she turns halfway to look back at him even though she knows she shouldn’t. 

“Whaddaya mean?”

“I haven’ seen y’roun’...”

He hasn’t moved from the wall, and she can tell nothing from his expression.

“Ah’ve been _here_ ,” she says, and all of a sudden her eyes are burning, her throat is tightening with exhaustion, frustration. 

_Ah’ll always be here..._

Because even if she does find a way to free Deborah, Mystique’s not going to just let her walk away. It’s impossible to disappear, to hide. Destiny will find her. And Mystique will come up with another way of trapping her, making her stay, making her touch, hurt, kill.

And by the time that happens Gambit will most likely have moved on to the next available cause that’ll give him a nice place to stay.

She turns her back on him, she tries to walk away. 

He follows her to her door, he says, “Why don’ y’leave if you so miser’ble?” and she still can’t tell if he’s trying to pick a fight or if he really just wants to know because she’s not looking into his face, she’s not looking into his eyes.

She doesn’t have time for this.

She has to get away from him and figure out what to do now that she knows where Deborah is. 

She has to _go_ but she stays, she stays and she says, “Ah can’t leave, LeBeau.”

“Why not?”

“Why so innerested all of a sudden?”

“Maybe I jus’ be havin’ second t’oughts ‘bout you an dis place... Maybe I can’t see de fit no mo’...” He frowns at her, tilts his head to the side, steps a little closer, trying to find her eyes. “Why you here?”

His voice, so soft and no longer barbed... She can feel herself going into a tailspin because he’s too close just like he’s always been too close, and he’s talking too gently, looking at her too intently.

“What’re ya playin’ at now...” she whispers. “What is this... suddenly all concerned...”

“Dis Erik guy be bad news. From what I hear he not wort’ gettin’ tangled up wit unless you fully invested.” He takes another step closer and she grips the doorknob to her room, her arm twisted behind her.All she has to do is turn it to make him go away. 

She doesn’t have time for this, for his games. 

She has to figure out how to get through that hidden door. 

She has to figure out how to save Deborah before they find Erik. 

She doesn’t know how much time she has left, but she’ll be damned if she’s going to waste any more of it with him. Because his concern isn’t real, the gentle tone of his voice, his eyes tracing her face waiting for her to _look_... none of it’s real.

He wants something from her.

“So...” he murmurs, “y’invested, Rogue?”

She looks up, looks him straight in the eye. He’s not getting a thing.

“Either tell me what ya gettin’ at o’ fuck off.”

Flicker. Burn.

The corner of his mouth jerks up in a smirk. 

He backs away with both hands up, and the tiny flame of victory she feels at his departure is quenched when he throws over his shoulder, “Jus’ makin’ sure y’ain’ gon’ slow us down’s all.”


	17. MCA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Worthless - Dido](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T4rJEj5fT8M)_

Everything is black and white.

The floor is a chessboard. Bolts of white silk drip from the walls. The tables, draped in black, wear corsages of white roses. 

The china is white with black borders. 

The wait staff wears white tuxedos, black ties. 

Pyro fiddles with his, his tray dotted with black caviar and white crackers balanced on his palm. Dominick pours white wine into a black crystal glass and offers it to a woman who smiles red.

Rogue makes eye contact with Dominick who tilts his head slightly to the left, and she scans the crowd in that direction searching for Remy.

It doesn’t take her long to find him.

He is talking to a woman, chuckling and sliding a finger down her arm. He meets her eyes from across the room as the woman hands him her card and nods imperceptibly.

_I see you, I’m ready._

She nervously slides a gloved hand over her hip, smoothes down the silk. Raven chose a bone-white gown for her. She pinned a black rose over her heart. 

She makes her way down the steps as Mystique clicks on in her ear.

“Your first target is Matthew Kingston.”

She takes a deep breath, slips the elbow-length glove down her forearm, her wrist, peels it from her fingers as she enters the crowd.

///

_“Tonight we are infiltrating a fundraiser for the Mutant Control Agency. It is being held at Sampson Charmichael’s home upstate. Mr Charmichael founded the Agency four years ago and has amassed a number of colleagues since then, all of whom will be in attendance tonight. One of them will surely have the information we failed to retrieve two days ago from their headquarters. Rogue will use her powers to glean what she can from Charmichael and his Executives. We need to know who his investors are, any new bills that are being proposed and to whom. We need information on prisoners,” Raven adds, lifting her voice significantly, ”and special projects. Avalanche and Pyro will get in with the catering company. Mr Lebeau has already added your names and pictures to the roster that was sent to Mr Charmichael yesterday.Rogue and Gambit will arrive as guests. Gambit, you will represent Laurent Gasconne, a possible investor who is unable to attend. We will make sure his own ambassador will not make it in his stead and you will be in the clear. Rogue, you will be taking the place of Jacob Downey's daughter Lorraine. Downey is already an investor for the company and also designed those charming little tracking devices we discovered in September. Downey will not be in attendance either, as last night he was admitted into the hospital for food poisoning.Lorraine is currently in Europe studying at Oxford. If anyone asks, you have flown home at your father’s wishes in order to represent him here at this important event.You can throw in a little worry on behalf of Downey’s health as well,” Mystique’s mouth tilts up in one corner as she types a code into the computer and opens the disc stolen from the MCA. “I hear he may not make it... These people...” Four images appear on the screen. Three men and one woman. “Are your primary targets, Rogue. You will touch each one and pass the information on to Pyro. When making contact with Charmichael I would like you to learn where his office is located in the house, where he keeps his personal and professional files. When you have that information you will give it to Avalanche, and Gambit will retrieve anything we may want. You will find clothes in your rooms as well as com devices for the evening and details on your aliases. Avalanche and Pyro you will be leaving in thirty minutes, Rogue, Gambit, you have two hours.”_

///

She manages to keep upright until she slips out into the hallway. Once alone, she slumps against the marble wall, shivering as the cold kisses her bare shoulders, her back. 

“What happened?”

“He just fainted...”

“Oh my God, is he alright...”

“He’s breathing!”

“Mr. Kingston can you hear me?”

“They’ll be here in ten minutes...”

“Make some room... give him some room...”

Just a swipe of her hand against his as she passed him and down he went. She had used Jean’s power to block the onrush long enough for her to get away, but now her feeble dams are bursting. Reabsorbed power, she finds, is only half as strong as it’s original source, and she grits her teeth as Matthew Kingston invades her mind...

///

_Dominick leans over the arm of his chair towards her, asks, concerned, “Have you ever absorbed four people, one right after the other before?”_

_She shakes her head no._

_She had absorbed two mutants one after the other once - Remy and then Jean Grey, but there had been some time in between..._

**_This is different anyway..._ **

_She’s never touched a person who wasn’t a mutant without causing permanent damage. Bruce is dead, and as far as she knows Cody is still in a coma..._

_“These are bad people, Rogue.” Raven says almost gently, watching her from across the room. “They deserve whatever happens to them.”_

_“Are you gonna be able to handle alla them in your head, girlie? Don’t you usually get wacky after a lil’ skin on skin action?” Pyro smirks from her left and she doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him._

_“You have Jean Grey though, to help you right?” Dominick asks, still leaning towards her, still trying to make sure she’ll be okay. “I mean that’s why you absorbed her in the first place - to help with this sort of thing... She’s still in there right?_

_“Yeah,” she whispers. Jean **had** made_ _it clear that she would help..._

_But with this... Jean wouldn’t approve of this..._

_She can feel Gambit’s gaze burning into the back of her neck as she bows her head, presses her fingers to eyes._

///

“Can I offer you some fish shit on a cracker, madame?”

“Factions of the MCA are bein’ set up in Europe as we speak,” Rogue murmurs over the lip of her champagne flute. “Charmichael is makin’ Kingston the head of the London base and he’ll be workin’ with the British parliament to round up suspected mutants.”

“That’s all ya got?

“Ah was only able ta touch him fo a minute - that’s all Ah could pick up from him right now that was relevan’.”

“Well touch the next one longer.”

“That’s a great idea - lemme be on the scene when one a’ them goes into convulsions. Ya do know that’ll put me under suspicion right? Not ta mention Ah’ll be outta commission fo’ who knows how long.”

“I thought Red was in there keepin’ you situated.”

“Ah don’t have full access to her powers - Ah ain’t her.” She takes a cracker from his tray as another guest approaches and Mystique murmurs in her ear,“Margaret Barrington on your left.”

///

_Jean Grey sits in the rocking chair with her feet tucked under her, her chin on her knees as she looks out the window. She watches the leaves on the tree standing sentinel beside the river dance with the wind, watches the tire swing sway slightly with an invisible weight as Rogue bites her lip, her heart hammering in her chest. The moments tick by, each one leading her closer to the mission, closer to what is sure to be the worst night of her life._

_She doesn’t have much time and Jean still has not answered._

_She sits down on the edge of the bed, resists the sudden urge to crawl under Julia’s afghan and never come out. She plays with the fringe, rubs the yarn between her fingers anxiously twirling them round and round trying to be patient, trying to be calm like Jean is calm, serene like Jean is serene._

_“You should talk to him,” she finally murmurs._

_“Who?”_

_“You know who.”_

_Rogue shakes her head, swallows hard. “He can’t do nuthin ta stop what’s gonna happen t’night. Ah’m not completely sure he would anyway... Ah still don’t know where that man stands... if he’s workin’ fo’ y’all or...” She shakes her head again, starts to panic as Jean turns her attention back to the ghosts playing by the river, swinging over the sun-splashed water in wide careless arcs._

_She remains silent. The seconds hold hands and stretch into a chain of precious minutes._

**_Ah need ya..._ ** _she thinks._

**_Ah can't do this without ya..._ **

_The image of that boy, the angel... his eyes and the sad slope to his mouth, the defeated slump of his shoulders has been haunting her. He’s gone through hell... he’s still_ **_in_ ** _it and she’s willing to bet it’s a million times worse than hers..._

_If she gets caught tonight she’ll end up there with all the others, and who knows what they’ll do to her... what they’ve done to_ **_him_ ** _to make him look so... excruciatingly hopeless..._

**_Ah don’t wanna get caught... please God don’t let them get me..._ **

_The thought that she could just take what she needs like she did with Gambit last time flits through her mind and as soon as it does Jean glances at her with raised eyebrows._

_Rogue flushes, says, “Ah wouldn'. Ya one of th’few psyche’s that doesn’hate me. Ah don’t really wanna alienate ya. Ah need ya too much.”_

_Jean nods, traces the edge of the windowsill with a finger. “For my power.”_

_“Ah ain’t gonna deny that Ah need it t’night - ya know Ah do... But that ain’t the only reason Ah need ya, Jean... Ah trust ya more than Ah trust mahself... Ah think maybe yo’ th’_ **_only_ ** _person in th’ world Ah trust right now...” Rogue stands says, ”Ah ain’t gonna pretend like Ah ain’t scared... Ah’m... Ah am. But If ya don’t wanna help me that’s okay, Jean... Ah mean it. Ya don’ owe me nuthin’. Ah’ll find another way... Ah’ll... be fine.”_

_“No, you won’t. You’ll be caught, locked up and probably killed,” Jean looks at her, twists her body in the rocker to face her, “and even though I hate what you’re going to do you don’t deserve that. Just promise me one thing...”_

_“What?”_

_“Promise me you’ll get out.”_

_“That’s all I’ve wanted fo’ months.”_

_“Promise me, even if it meansyou have to leave her behind.”_

_Rogue blinks._

_“What?”_

_“You’re too dangerous in their hands, Rogue. We know The Brotherhood and what they’re capable of. Tonight is just the tip of the iceberg.”_

_“Ah can’t...”_

_“Is one life more important than a hundred others? Because it could come to that, Rogue. It’s very likely to.”_

_“Ah don’t know about a hundred other lives, all Ah know is Ah’m responsible fo’ hers.Ah can’t promise ya that Ah’ll leave her b’hind,” she whispers, “but Ah promise ya Ah’ll die before Ah become what they want me ta become. Ya have mah word on that.”_

_Jean looks at her for a long moment, smiles softly, nodding, says, “Would you ever consider joining us, Rogue? Joining the X-Men?”_

_Rogue frowns._

_“If Ah say yes are ya gonna help me?”_

_Jean holds out her hand._

_“I was going to help you anyway.”_

_“Oh.”_

_“I’m just saying no matter what you think of yourself, you’re a good person, Rogue, and you could do a lot of good in this world...”_

_“Ah’ll keep that in mind,” she whispers and takes the offered hand. She closes her eyes as Jean flickers, her power threading through her veins infusing her with strength, with calm._

_“By the way,” Jean murmurs as she sinks back down beneath the floorboards, “I meant you should talk to_ **_him_ ** _...”_

_Jean nods at the busted closet door, her whispered “good luck” hanging in the air briefly before fading with the sudden pink flare of the firebird outlined on the floor, leaving Rogue staring at the split wood and the darkness beyond where she can feel Gambit waiting._

///

“Barrington has ties to a scientist in Canada who specializes in gene splicing...” 

“ _Gene_ splicing?”

“Say it a lil louder why doncha?” she hisses and winces, pressing her palm hard against her forehead.

Pyro squints at her, his sneer sliding into a frown,

“Hey, girlie... you ain’t lookin’ so good.”

“That... Barrington woman... has a potty mouth an' she hasn’ stopped screamin’ at me since she went down...”

“Where’d ya stash her body anyway?”

“Avalanche is takin’ care o’ that stuff. He was the one who caught Kingston when he fainted... tol’em ta call 911...”

“Ya got any more for me?”

“No - far’s ah kin tell that’s whatBarrington’s contributin’ to the MCA... She used to be a scientist... studying diseases... heredity diseases... whole buncha stuff along those lines. She’s usin’ her contacts to...”

Her head pounding. 

“...to...”

_Jean?_

“to do...”

Margaret Barrington’s screams mix with Matthew Kingston’s yells, making her dizzy, making her eyes water.

_Jean...?_

“To do what?” Pyro growls impatiently.

“Stuff...”

“That’s really helpful, _Lorraine_ ”

“After she’s calmed down Ah can go back in there... an' get specifics... Ah can get more information from alla them... when they... calm down...”

White noise roaring in her head...

_Jean?_

_I’m here Rogue, I’m here... I’m working on it..._

** _> click<_ **

“Charmichael is alone, exiting the main floor.”

“Wait... Mystique... Ah need a minnit...”

“Now, Rogue.”

** _> click<_ **

_She can feel him looking at her, staring at her back, a warmth right between her shoulder blades. He doesn’t say anything and neither does she. She stares at the elevator buttons, her hand reaches out, her fingers gently pushing the button for Deborah’s floor. The elevator sails past. She didn’t expect it to stop. It’s habit by now. Pushing that button, knowing nothing will change but doing it anyway. Like tonguing a sore tooth, teasing out the pain for no reason other than she can’t help herself._

_It’s the same with him. She could have waited in her room until she was sure he had gotten in the elevator. She could have waited for the soft sound of the ding and the swish of the doors closing, but she wanted to see him, tease out the pain.Being around him makes her sad. It makes her angry too. She needs that anger to get through tonight. Needs to feel something other than trepidation, the knot of nervousness and fear twisting in her stomach. She needs him to rile her up, piss her off._

_He’s staring at the nape of her neck. She can feel his eyes, knows where he’s looking._

_She turns her head the slighted bit, feels the heat of his gaze slide to her cheek._

_“What?” She means to snap. It comes out too soft and the knot twists in her stomach._

_He doesn’t say anything and she turns, wraps her arms around herself tight. She faces the doors because she can’t face him and waits for them to open._

_He says, “You gon’ be okay?”_

_She swallows._

_“Ah don’t know. Doesn’ matter.”_

_The doors slide open. She can’t seem to move. If she takes this first step she’ll have to take another. And then another. And then she’ll have to go outside. And then she’ll have to get in the car._

_Remy steps past her, careful not to touch, his cologne..._

_She holds her breath._

_“Y’look beautiful,” he murmurs._

_She watches him cross the lobby, his hand flat on the glass door as he pushes it open. He looks over his shoulder, his lips move again but this time she can’t hear._

_She knows what he said though._

_He said, "be careful"._

_Mystique clicks on in her ear._

///

_Breathe... just breathe..._

Charmichael at her feet.

_What the hell..._ echoing in her ears, _where the hell am I?_

_Shhhh..._ she thinks, and a rattle of chains. Metal boxes clamping shut.

Jean doesn’t want her to do it this way. She says they won’t be as cooperative when she talks to them later. But Jean’s reasoning with them, talking them into being quiet has not been working fast enough. Her ears have been ringing, her head pounding, her eyes burning all night.

There’s one man left. Just one.

“She don’ know nuthin’.”

“Are you sure?”

_Remy?_

She holds her breath listening to the hushed voices, frozen in place behind a pillar. Two shadows suddenly edge into her sight - a man and a woman stretching onto the wall before her. The woman shakes her head and the man reaches out, his hands palms up in a “what can I say.”

“She don’ know nuthin’. She didn’ even know de guy’s name... We leave her ‘lone, neh? When we go after de Brotherhood? We leave her ‘lone... She don’ need no mo’ trouble...”

“What... where...”

Rogue tears her eyes away from the shadows as Storm’s low voice murmurs, “She will not be harmed, my friend,” and she looks down at Charmichael’s body. 

He is moving.

He is awake.

_Shit..._

She stoops down beside him, touches his shoulder, straining to hear if they have gone.

She glances up at the wall one last time before turning her attention back to the groggy Charmichael. The shadows have disappeared.

“Oh my Gosh! Sir, are you okay? You collapsed... I was just about to get some help... I’ll get you some water...”

“Who are you...”He blinks dazedly, trying to focus on her face, his speech slurring as he tries to sit up.

“Don’t get up, sir - I’m going to get help...”

“Who...”

“Lorraine. Lorraine Downey.”

She leaves him. She can’t get out of that hallway fast enough. She has to find Remy.

He’s working with the X-men.

_Ah knew it... Ah knew it..._

_Ah can trust him._

_Ah can tell him._

_Ah-_

She rams into a man as she comes out onto the floor and stumbles back, her heel catching on her train. He catches her before she falls, his hand grasping her hip and pulling her upright.

And suddenly she’s staring into a pair of narrowed eyes. Hostile eyes. She knows these eyes...

_”So tell me de truth Wolverine - you practice dat look in de mirror? ‘Grrr I’m de Wolfman...grrr I ain’ housebroke...grrr I’ll be more den happy ta rip ya a new one....’”_

Remy knows those eyes. Like he knew the sound of Storm’s voice in that hallway.

“You didn’ hear nuthin’.”

“What?”

“You. Didn’t. Hear. Shit.” He holds up a fist under her chin and suddenly her face is cupped between two blades. “I know how your power works. I know what you did to Jean. You ain’t gotten punished for that yet.”

Her heart is pounding in her chest, not out of fear but exhilaration. He’s threatening her with the one thing she is not afraid of.

Death.

It gives her a sudden sense of power, this not caring what he does, this not caring if he runs her through right in the middle of all these people, and she stares into those eyes. She leans into him, feeling reckless, feeling a trickle of blood slide down her neck. 

“Go ahead.”

It might even be better this way - solve all her problems in one fell swoop. She wouldn’t be a pawn in Mystiques game anymore, Deborah would have to go free because Mystique would have no more use for her. She wouldn’t have to live through her life in a constant state of guilt and regret... She would finally be free, really free.

She looks deep into those eyes, thinks, _do it..._

He stares back. _Snikt_ go the knives as they slip back into his knuckles, the wounds closing up instantly. “Wouldn’ wanna spoil the duds.”He growls nodding at her dress. “You get a pass tonight - we both got covers to keep - but you come near me or my own ever again and it’s over. You’re done, darlin’.”

_Darlin’..._

She steps up to him one last time, her face close to his and he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. Neither does she.

“Fuck. You. _Darlin’_.”

///

_“That last man on the list, Rogue... his name is Alexander Charles. He is one of the wealthiest men in Massachusettes. He hasn’t signed on with the MCA yet but if he does there’ll be nothing they can’t do. What an organization like this needs is an extraordinary amount of money and a constant flow of it. Most of the members are affluent, but Mr Charles can allow them access to funds that will make them unstoppable. We need to scare him off. They’ll have a hard time finding a backer with as much money as Mr Charles on so short notice. Something is going down soon. They need the money now. This gala is partly to woo Mr Charles into becoming a partner. It’s clear he is intrigued. He has been involved in meetings with the higher-ups for months, has been touring facilities. It’s only a matter of time before he starts writing checks. All they need is his signature... and the signing is scheduled for tonight.”_

_Mystique secures the black rose over Rogue’s heart, brushes her hair away from her downcast eyes._

_“When you touch him you don’t have to look for anything. We just want him taken out. Avalanche will take care of things from there."_

_“We gonna kidnap him?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Take his money?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Kill him?”_

_“Not tonight.”_

///

Alexander Charles is in a wheelchair.

She hadn’t expected that.

He’s sipping a glass of champagne that Dominick has poured for him. He smiles his thanks and Rogue goes to them without Mystique’s prodding. She is one touch away from this night being over. 

She has a trove of information in her brain buzzing and humming and rattling chains. They’re trying to get out. She can hear Jean trying to soothe them, trying to keep them calm.

_How many are left?_ she asks.

_One more._

_And then it’s over?_

_It’s over. As soon as Ah get mah mind clear Ah’m gettin’ her out or Ah’m gonna die tryin’._

She thinks of Gambit, of him asking Storm to leave her alone, to grant her immunity.

_”She don’ need no mo trouble”_

_Ah may even be able ta get a lil help..._

“Mr Alexander?” She holds out her hand. “I’m Lorraine. Jacob Downey’s daughter?”

He smiles kindly in recognition of the name, and just as he reaches out his own hand Jean’s voice tears through her mind.

_“DON’T!”_

Her palm meets his. The backlash is instantaneous. She doesn’t make a sound. She falls as a tidal wave of darkness overwhelms her, drowning out the voices, drowning out her thoughts.

Blackness.

Silence.

She doesn’t even feel the ground when she hits.


	18. Anna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Breathe Me - Sia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFGvmrJ5rjM)_

She's lying flat on her back in the bedroom. The walls are spiralling away from her, flipping over and over into the darkness. The ceiling gets higher and higher until it becomes a pinprick of white and then she can't see it at all. The floor drops out from under her but she doesn't fall. She is suspended in the blackness, a fly caught in a web.

The air vibrates and she knows she isn't alone.

She can feel a presence, a weight in the air, a buzz, a prickling at the back of her neck, and she turns her head without getting up, feeling too weak to move much more than that, all of the air knocked out of her.

She hangs in the void, she waits for the spider.

A man walks out of the darkness.

Alexander Charles says, "Don't be frightened," he says, "I know who you are..."

He doesn't sound angry, he sounds like his smile. Kind.

She still can't move and she whispers, "What happened..."

"You tried to get inside my head. Uninvited."

There is an aura about him, like Jean's but not as vibrant. He doesn't crackle, he radiates. Green and blue waves of power undulate around his head in a kind of halo and she gets it, she understands.

"Ah didn't know ya were a telepath..."

_Wait, a_ **_mutant_ ** _was gonna provide funds to the MCA?_

"I had no intention of helping them. I am looking for someone."

"Lemme guess - Erik?"

"Yes."

"What's with this guy? Why's he so popular?"

Alexander weaves a picture out of the tendrils of power, the man's face, rugged and weary but strong with a set jaw, hard eyes

"He is a man who has the potential to become one of the most dangerous mutants on earth. The longer he remains under the custody of the Mutant Control Agency, the harder it will be for us to save him. We are trying to reach him before The Brotherhood does and if we fail... the consequences could be catastrophic. The X-Men want to help him, to convince him that there is hope in this world, that there is goodness, a light in the dark. We believe that mutants and humans can coexist peacefully. The Brotherhood does not believe equality is an option, they believe that hope only exists when the opposition is controlled. This view is extremely dangerous to someone like Erik who has already seen too much of the world's cruelty."

He watches her intently, his words echoing in her ears.

_Too much of the world's cruelty..._

She wonders suddenly how much he has seen in her mind, how much he knows of her past. Did he see it painted on the walls before they disappeared? Reflected in the windows, scratched into the floors? Did he see her darkest memories locked up in chains, shoved under the bed, pushed up on the highest shelves...

Did he see all that there beneath the surface of the sanctuary Jean has helped her create? Is that why it's gone now? So she could start fresh... like he wants Erik to start fresh?

She wonders if he is as worried about her on some level as he is about Erik. Jean thinks she could be one of the most dangerous mutants herself. She has hinted at this, and Alexander is looking at her in a cautious way now, sensing that she understands why someone would think about the world the way The Brotherhood does, the way Erik probably does.

He's prepared to tread lightly and she wants to tell him there's no need.

She wants to tell him that she understands it, but that doesn't mean she agrees with it. Her problems aren't necessarily with humanity anymore as much as with whatever God decided to make her skin toxic. She doesn't need to be on anyone's watch. She doesn't need to be saved. She has no intention of destroying the world or claiming it for others like her because no one _is_ like her. She feels no real kinship with anyone these days except for Jean and she's not really even here.

"So y'an X-Man... an' ya posin' as an investor so ya can find Erik?"

"Yes."

"Have ya?"

He doesn't say anything for a long moment and she thinks this is a telepath thing - the making her squirm, the testing of her patience. Jean does this as well, makes her wait for answers she may not even give.

She thinks about reassuring him that she has no intention of telling the Brotherhood anything, but then decides he can think whatever the hell he wants. She still can't move and it's beginning to piss her off. She wants her room back, wants her sanctuary even if it is fake.

"So what're ya gonna do ta me? Ya gonna keep me here? Locked in mah head...?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Ya said ya knew who Ah was."

He smiles and holds out a cupped hand. His power reaches out to it, curling into a firebird that slowly pulses pink and red and orange in his palm.

"Someone has vouched for your character."

She frowns. She can't feel Jean at all.

"Is she still he-"

Alexander inhales sharply, the bird dissipates.

He tilts his face up to the nonexistent ceiling, says, "I'll be there in a moment".

"Ya can't leave," she murmurs, and a part of her is a little satisfied that she knows something he apparently does not. She gets the feeling this does not happen often. "Ya stuck here like Jean. Didn' she explain to ya how mah powers work?"

He shakes his head, unconcerned. "You weren't able to get past my shields Rogue. You ricocheted off them rather violently, as you can see..." He gestures at the darkness surrounding them and continues, "I came here to make sure there was no permanent damage, and of course to find out who you are. I am quite satisfied on both counts and would very much like to know more about you - your mutation is fascinating... Unfortunately, there is something that needs my immediate attention."

He closes his eyes, concentrating, and everything suddenly snaps back into place. The furniture comes hurtling out of the darkness, sliding into their spots as the walls come together, the ceiling like the lid on a box clicking shut.

She sits up, finally able to move.

"You can remake your world, Rogue. You can heal the damages inside of yourself instead of hiding them... I can help you."

She looks at the walls, can almost see the stolen thoughts of the people she absorbed scrawled on them beneath the friendly yellow-flowered paper. He's making her see what's really there.

She doesn't answer him.

"The people you absorbed tonight-"

She'd almost forgotten about them they've been so quiet. She wonders if Jean put them in the closet-

"They are not there. They're gone."

"Gone? What do ya mean they're gone - how're they gone?"

"I couldn't allow you to pass on any of that information Rogue. I know you do not want to help The Brotherhood - Jean has made that clear to me, but I can't run the risk that they will get it out of you, not with the situation as delicate as it is right now. I hope you understand."

"Wait, how did ya get rid of 'em?"

"They hadn't had a chance to take root in your psyche yet. I simply released them."

"Where'd they go?"

"Where all memories go when they fade - somewhere deep in your mind so far away they no longer exist to you."

"Ya have the power to do that? Ta speed up the forgettin'?"

"Yes."

"Do I?"

"No."

She watches him looking around her room, giving her one last chance to take him up on his offer, so sure she will after his little demo.

She feels a flash of anger. She wants him out of her head. He's too comfortable here.

He looks away from the mirror flickering with a memory he has no right to see and turns back to her. He senses what she's thinking, all of a sudden too polite to read her thoughts outright like he had been.

She thinks he has a lot to learn about boundaries and makes sure he can read _that_.

He nods once, slightly embarrassed, tells her, "If you ever need my help, please do not hesitate to contact me - Jean knows how. My real name is Charles Xavier." He glances up at the ceiling preparing to leave but he turns to her one last time, says quietly, "I believe there is a girl involved? An innocent... The X-Men can help, Rogue... you just have to trust us... Contact us and we will help you in any way we can. We will help her."

_You have my word._

His voice fills the bedroom, echoing softly as he disappears leaving behind a trail of green and blue haze that hovers about the ceiling. She watches it stretch across to each corner, shining like starlight until she can't feel him anymore.

She knows she should leave too, should get back. She does not know what has happened to her out there, if she has been discovered, if she is already being locked away...

She stands in the middle of her room, basking in the stillness of her mind, reluctant to find out. It has never felt like this here before, almost... clean. She looks at the walls, the mirror, and the memories are still there but she isn't struck with the accusatory feeling that usually accompanies them. The anger, the blame that always emanates from them in almost palpable waves is gone, the ghosts that fed them silent. She wonders if he has released them as well as the ones from the party...

She turns to the window, her heart suddenly tightening in her chest at the thought.

_Cody...?_

The tire swing swings in answer and she exhales her held breath, relieved. She's so used to him being here...

_As screwed up as it is Ah'd miss him if he wasn'..._

Maybe Charles knew that? Maybe he just left her with the good ones then? Jean is definitely still here... she can feel her now like a breeze... a slight pleasant crackle in the air, a warmth radiating from the floorboards.

_But th' others...?_

She looks at the closet door. Its face smooth now, unbroken. He has repaired it.

She goes to it, slowly reaching out a hand needing to know...

She takes a deep breath and turns the knob, unsure whether or not she wants to find him still there.

Jean had said she should talk to him. She never got the chance to ask her why, and as she steps inside she doesn't feel the normal blast of cold air he normally greets her with. She wonders if she's missed her chance -

"Hello, _chere_."

She hasn't.

He stands before one of her boxes. The oldest one. The one with the most chains. Bruce's seems to be gone, but that one, the one she is most afraid of remains.

He steps away from it, comes towards her, and she sees that it has been opened. The chains form a bird's nest of rusted links, broken and useless around it.

He sees the look on her face and stops, glances back at what he has done.

"I wanned t'see what was in dere," he says quietly. "I tink mostly... I jus' wanned t'hurt y'." He runs his hands through his hair, turns to face her again and she feels his pain in the pit of her stomach, stinging tears in her eyes. "I'm drivin' m'self crazy over y' in here, _chere_. I wanna hurt y' an' I wanna protect y' at de same time... I walk 'roun' in here cursin' y' hopin' y'hear it an' den prayin' y' don'... I sit here in de dark wantin' ya..."

He swallows and comes towards her again so hesitantly she doesn't want to run from him. His voice is too gentle. He doesn't want to hurt her now. He wants to protect her. She thinks she might need him to.

"What was in it?" she whispers.

"Y' don' know?"

She shakes her head.

"Ah jus' know it's bad."

"It ain' bad,  _chere_..."

He holds out a gloved hand and after a moment she takes it. He leads her to the box and instead of opening it, he sits down, facing the darkness beyond and says softly, "Anna? Y'dere, _ma petite_? Don' be scared now... I wan' ya t'meet someone..."

He offers his other hand to someone she can't see

And then suddenly there are fingers, a hand, an arm, a shoulder. Gambit draws her into the light.

A little girl with a streak of white in her tangled brown hair and wide mistrustful green eyes.

A seven-year old version of her.

_"...you weren' sittin' aroun' wishin' y'couldn' be touched, right?"_

Yes.

Yes, she was.

"Oh mah God..."

She locked herself away so no one could touch, no one could hurt her ever again.

She did it without even realizing it.

Anna curls up against Gambit's chest as he strokes her hair. She stares up at Rogue curiously from under her eyelashes and whispers something in his ear.

"Dat's you, _petite_ ," he answers her. "You real pretty, neh?"

Anna studies her for a long moment and nods shyly. She slides off his lap and slowly comes to her as Rogue drops to her knees, unable to stand any longer. She reaches out with her little hand to touch the tears slipping down her face, and Rogue jerks away, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

Gambit says, so softly she can barely hear him, "It's okay... you can let her..."

"No, Ah can't..."

"Rogue-"

"Ah don't wanna hurt her..."

" _Chere_... dat's what y'doin'."

She looks at Anna, her little hand no longer outstretched, but cradled in the other, a disappointed slump to her shoulders, a wounded tilt to her mouth.

Gambit crouches down beside her, nods at the little girl standing before them. "She needs to be held, Rogue."

She looks at him and his eyes say, _trust me_.

She takes a deep breath and closes hers wanting to.

She holds out her trembling hand.

And after a moment she feels it... another hand grasping hers and nothing else. No onrush of memories, no darkness.

She opens her eyes and looks into Anna's.

Her little face is beaming, and she turns to Gambit, wanting him to come too.

Anna takes hold of his coat, pulls him down beside them, and he reaches out to Rogue, traces the line of her jaw, his fingertips just grazing her skin. No flickering, no transfer of power.

No memories, no darkness.

She bursts into tears and he wraps his arms around the both of them murmuring into her hair, "Y'can touch, Rogue, y'can touch. Y'always could... y'were jus' too 'fraid... Don' be 'fraid no mo'... I don' wan' hurt you... I won' hurt you... I won' let anybody hurt y' like dat ever 'gain-"

_"Rogue!"_

She looks up, startled. The voice is coming from the bedroom. His voice...

_"Come back t'me..."_

Gambit smiles, nods at her. "Go on," he says. "Follow it... you be fine."

_"Chere... please..."_

She holds Anna to her, hugs her one last time, breathes in the scent of her skin, warm and soft, and whispers into her ear. "Ah'm so sorry, Anna... Ah promise Ah'll take better care of ya... that'll never happen again..."

Anna nods, holds tight onto Gambit's hand.

She points at the sunlight creeping in from the opened door.

"Hurry," she says.

///

" _Chere,_ come back... come back t'me..."

She opens her eyes.

She can hear rain pouring down and if she turns her head she will see it falling just beyond the curtain of the willow tree they are under. She stares into his eyes instead and they flicker in the darkness like candles.

"Y'were so still..." he whispers leaning over her.

"Where are we..."

"In de garden. I caught y' b'fore y'fell - tol' everyone y' jus needed some air. As we speak dey're trowin' all de caviar away. Musta gone bad... all dese people passin' out."

"Then our cover ain' blown?"

"No, _chere_... we fine."

"Ya left y'post..." she murmurs.

"So?"

"So ya could get inta trouble."

He shrugs, smiles lightly. "Iss what I do."

She had felt his worry so acutely before, felt it calling her, guiding her back to herself and now she can feel his relief. She can almost see it, and it suddenly occurs to her that if she pushes she can see everything, can hear everything... every thought, every secret...

She has Charles's power - she must have siphoned a little of it off when she touched him despite the shields... or maybe the residue from his visit had clung to her when she left. It was still there when she came back into the bedroom, a net of power like a spider web glistening with rain, shaking with Remy's voice as he called her back... She must have gotten just enough to be able to pick up the vaguest edges of his thoughts without even trying, because she knows if she did try she could be inside him, could know everything.

She's not even tempted. The way he's looking at her right now, gazing at her in the moonlight slipping in between the swaying branches, striping his face in a soft melancholy blue... so open, unguarded... She knows all she needs to know.

The shields Jean spoke of in his memories are down, and she hasn't seen him this way in so long... he hasn't let her see him this way...

She can't help herself, she reaches out to touch him, knowing it's okay, knowing she _can_...

He flinches.

"Remy-"

"We should go."

She stares at him, her hand still outstretched, frozen in the attempt.

He pulls away, gets up. He turns his back and the shields come up, blocking her, leaving her cold and shivering, alone.

She should have known better.

She gets shakily to her feet, the world shifting slightly when she lifts her head, and she leans against the tree for support. She looks at the mud streaked down her skirt and is glad. It was Raven's dress.

She slides a dirty hand down her thigh making it worse, trying not to think of the stricken look on his face when she had tried to touch him.

"We leavin'." He says, still turned away from her, his fingers playing with the willow branches, tracing their spines. "We've aborted. Avalanche and Pyro are still in dere takin' drink orders - it'd look too suspicious if dey suddenly disappeared. You an' I dough, we done, we goin' back."

"Raven aborted the mission?"

"I did. It was bad... When I got y'out here... y'were barely breathin'. I tol' Mystique we were done an' t'sen' de car. She prolly still screamin' 'bout it on y'com link now if y'wan' it. I stuck 'em in m'pocket. Dat lady has a limited vocab'lary when she mad..."

"Thank you."

He doesn't say anything.

"If ya hadn't gotten me outta there they woulda foun'out."

"Don' mention it. We teammates, neh? Iss our job to look after each other. 'Sides Mystique'd have my ass if any'tin happened t'ya."

She looks at his fingers gently weaving the branches together and she knows, she knows...

She knows she can trust him. As unsure as he is about her right now, her intentions, she knows all she has to say is _I need your help_ and he will give it. He will trust her because he wants to just like she had wanted to. She can feel it even with his shields up and that gives her hope.

"Rem-"

An arc of light cuts through the swaying leaves as a limousine pulls up beside the tree. Raven's car.

"Can y'walk?" he asks his hands.

"Yeah..."

She lets go of the tree, takes one cautious step and then another, still feeling a little shaky. She trips over a raised root and he is there in an instant, holding her up, his hands on her ass, the warmth of them seeping through the damp silk.

"Sorry," he grins despite himself. "Dere ain' any material higher den dat on y'back..."

_Tell him ya need him... tell him ya know who he is..._

She holds on to the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer. The smile slips off his lips as they stare at each other and hers part and she can feel his heart pounding against her knuckles-

A car door slams and she whispers breathlessly against his mouth, "Ah need to tell ya sumthin'... Ah know ya-"

"Is everything alright?" the driver calls out, and she bites her lip as Remy looks at her curiously, waiting for her to continue.

She looks over his shoulder and sees the man standing in front of the headlights, throwing his shadow across the screen of leaves. She sees his hand reaching out, parting them, and she quickly finds her footing as Remy's hands slide away.

The driver holds the drooping branches back like a curtain for them to pass through and the rain hits them hard, immediately pasting their clothes to their bodies. She can feel Remy behind her as they make their way to the car and she reaches for him, she finds his sleeve and holds on.

They climb inside, the door slams shut, and she turns to him, stares into his eyes in the pitch dark, knowing he can see just fine.

The driver gets in. The screen between the front and back seat is down. He can hear whatever they say, but he can't see it

She looks down at Remy's hand resting open in her lap, her fingers still curled around his sleeve. She grips it tighter, raises her head.

_Help,_ she mouths.

She touches his chest, pressing gently. _X-Men... Help..._ She tilts her head towards the driver, shakes it slightly keeping her eyes on his.

_Can't talk here..._

She can feel his frown like the warmth of his hand and she takes a deep breath, moves hers over his heart, rests it there.

_Trust..._

His eyes flash, his uncertainty swirling about him like cigarette smoke, like fog, so strong she can see it.

_If he thinks it's a trick, that Ah'm tryin' ta blow his cover..._

She can't do or say anything to convince him of her sincerity, not with Mystique's driver watching them in the rearview, listening... She can feel the corners of his thoughts plain enough. He's very interested in the shadowy outlines of their bodies, so close to each other in the back of the car, the way her hand has disappeared beneath his jacket.

She lets go, turns away from the both of them, stares at her reflection in the rain-streaked window.

She may have a little of Xavier's power, but his psyche isn't there for her to learn from, to recharge from. She only got a trace of his power and it's already fading. Even if she did have full access it wouldn't matter anyway. She can't send her voice into Remy's mind and tell him what's happening, what she's trying to say, what she needs to say... She'd never be heard... She'd come up against his shields like she had Xavier's and although his probably wouldn't knock her out like Charles' had, she knows it'd hurt a lot more. It'd be worse than having all the breath knocked out of her, everything familiar ripped away until all that's left is darkness. It would be so much worse to touch that burning coldness, to scream and not be heard and know that it didn't have to be this way, that once it wasn't.

It would make her weaker than she already is, and the one thing she needs tonight is strength.

She'll have to find another way to reach him, to make him see she's not playing him now.

And she has to do it soon. She does not have the information Mystique needs anymore. All she can do is bluff, bargain with what she doesn't possess.

She looks at Gambit's reflection beyond hers in the window, knowing it'll be a lot easier to do that with someone like him on her side, someone who knows how to play that game and win.

She trails her fingers over the cool glass, touches his face there. She calls to him knowing it's pointless, knowing he can't hear...

She says, _Remy_. _._. and it sounds like a whisper in her head even as she tries to yell it, to scream it with all she has.

_Please, Remy..._

Nothing.

_Please... hear me... Plea-_

He lifts his head.

He looks at her reflection, and she holds her breath watching his.

_Remy... can ya hear me?_

He doesn't answer, he hasn't heard.

He felt her eyes calling him, not her voice.

He glances at the driver and the silk of her dress slowly slides across her thighs as he gathers the material that has fallen across the seat in his hand. He tugs gently, echoing her touch from before when she had held so desperately onto his sleeve.

He's saying yes.

She turns away from the window, looks at him out of the corner of her eye as the driver adjusts the mirror, a flash in the dark. Gambit nods once, almost to himself, and leans back against the seat. He stares straight ahead, just a passenger awaiting his destination.


	19. Mystique

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [The Wind - PJ Harvey](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GmOMuBYEejc)  
> [Girls - Death in Vegas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ITVS2r-Fw5k)_

The driver opens the door for them when they arrive back at the penthouse. She feels his eyes on their backs as they leave him behind, step into the building and cross the marble floor.

Remy pushes the button and they wait silently before the elevator. She watches the floors light up, coming closer and closer.

"3" illuminates and a sudden calm washes over her.

She's not alone anymore.

She looks at Remy reflected in the polished surface of the doors, meets his eyes...

2

And over her shoulder the driver is at the front desk, speaking to the concierge, nodding slightly in their direction.

1

The doors slide open, their reflections part, disappear.

They step inside.

The doors swish shut and they are alone, words tumble out of her, no time, no time to explain everything just-

"Mystique has Deborah-"

"Yo' frien'?" she blinks at him, surprised.

"Y'remember her?"

"I 'member ever'ting."

"She's had her this whole time. She's usin' her ta control me, make me stay with Th' Brotherhood, make me do things. Ah need ta get her out, Remy. Tonight. Ah don't have the info'mation Mystique needs no mo'. Xavier got rid of it after Ah touched 'im... Ah need ya ta help me get ta her..."

He's staring at her neck.

"Remy?"

"D'y'know where dey holdin' her?" He says.

"The... the floor below ours...There's a hidden door in th' room – Ah don't know where it leads, but th'cell is right below Mystique's office which makes me think-"

"It goes t'her," he murmurs still focused on her skin.

"Yeah..."

He lifts his hand, his fingers hovering beside her throat.

"How dat happen?"

"What?"

"You bleedin'..."

_Musta been when Wolverine was tryin' ta scare me..._

His eyes flash, tracing the razor straight line of blood.

"Did he cut you?"

" _Ah'm_ fine. Deborah-"

"Don' worry, we get her out."

The elevator stops.

"How?"

The doors open.

"Trus' me."

///

"What happened?"

"She was causin' a scene, had ta get her out,  _non_? Anybody touch de _femme_ it be all over. T'ought Rogue here wouldn' be much use t'us if she b'hind bars."

Mystique turns to her, dismissing Gambit, and he leans against her desk nonchalantly checking out the papers scattered across it.

"Did you get what we need, Rogue?"

She can feel Remy's eyes on her telling her to lie.

"Yeah – Ah got all of it. Did Avalanche pick up that Alexander guy?"

"He has not reported back yet."

"'Dat don' sound good..."

"Lebeau?"

"What?"

"Are you trying to piss me off? You're already on my shit list for what you pulled tonight – did it occur to you that you and Lorraine Downey _are not supposed to know each other?_ Did you not understand that all of you were supposed to remain _independent_ on this mission? Contacting each other only when absolutely necessary _and in secret_ when you did?"

"Mebbe y'shoulda given me de rundown in French, neh?"

Mystique whips around and he gives her a lazy smirk.

**_click_** "Raven..." **_click_**

Mystique glares at Gambit and reaches past him to pick up the phone, taking it off speaker.

"Yes, Irene? ... Can it wait? ..."

Rogue tenses as Mystique's gaze slides away from Remy, over to her. She forces herself to not look away, to meet her eyes, calmly, coolly.

And what she finds in them isn't anger... or even suspicion.

It's worry, it's-

_Fear?_

She has never seen Mystique look afraid. Ever.

A shiver chases its way down her spine.

_It's bad... whatever Irene's tellin' her... it's bad..._

"I'll be right there," she murmurs against the mouthpiece, hangs up the phone. In the dead silence they stand there face to face, almost close enough to touch and Rogue knows she can reach out and do it right now. End this. She can take all the answers... but something in Raven's eyes... she doesn't want to know what she's thinking right now, what's making her look so  _scared_...

Mystique reaches out to her first, places a hand on her silk-clad shoulder and squeezes gently.

"You've been through a lot this evening. We'll debrief later... You should rest now and I will come to see you when I've finished with Irene."

She turns, she leaves. 

She leaves them alone in her office.

"Remy..."

He's already on his feet, searching.

"She left us alone."

"Don' question y'good luck..."

She watches him run his hands along the bookshelves, the walls.

"Remy, it's bad... Whatever Irene knows... It's bad enough that she would leave _you_ alone in her office..."

"Den we better do dis quick 'fore she comes to her senses. Where you say de door was in de girl's room?"

"It... it would be here Ah think..."

She's facing a bookshelf against the far wall. He comes to stand beside her.

"Start pullin' books – maybe one a'dem will-"

"Wait..."

There's a sculpture sitting on the fourth shelf. A hand cradling a woman. Something about the fingers... the thin grasping fingers and the woman curled into herself is so sinister... 

It's beautiful until you really look at it, until you realize the woman is afraid.

She touches the sculpture, smoothes her hand along the cool marble of the woman's calves, her knees, her arms crossed protectively over her heart. She places her hand over her completely, trapping her between her palm and the sculptures'.

She grips, gently twists.

It gives.

The bookshelf slides back into the wall.

"Not bad, _cherie_..."

"Come on..." she whispers and steps into the darkness.

///

She feels her way, almost tripping down a flight of stairs she knew would be coming, and after a few choice words she hears a faint whistling and Remy tosses a card before them which glows softly at their feet before disintegrating.

He tosses another and another as they descend.

And come to a door.

"There’re cameras in there... Mystique probably ain't watchin' now but we haveta get Deborah out fast..."

He holds up another card, traces the door's outline, looking for a handle, a button, anything...

Nothing.

"How th'hell..."

He slips the glowing card into one of the seams.

"Remy..."

"Iss okay – I can control de charge..."

A flash of magenta, a puff of smoke and the door swings open into more darkness.

They step inside and the lights flicker on.

"What..."

_No..._

The room is empty.

"No."

Empty.

"No no no nonononono..."

" _Chere_..."

"Deborah..."

"Rogue-"

_She..._

"She did it... She killed her... Ah did what she wanted and she did it anyway... She..."

"Are you sure dis be de right place?"

She crumples to the ground, shaking, shaking and clutching her stomach feeling sick.

_It was all f'nothin'... alla this... everythin'... those people..._

_An' a part of ya musta known... y'were hopin' she wasn' a monster... but ya musta known..._

_Why didn' Ah get ta her sooner...why didn' Ah grab Mystique the second she threatened her... why..._

_Cause ya didn't wanna believe she's evil... ya didn' wanna believe she was really capable of... of..._

"Ah did what she asked! Ah did everythin'!"

"Rogue..." His arm around her, lifting her up, making her look at him through her tears, her rage. "Rogue, dere's nothin' we kin do if she not here... We walk away together. We walk away _now_..."

"That can't happen, LeBeau."

Raven stands in the doorway, the black mouth of the stairwell yawning behind her. She shuts the door, shuts them all inside, a glint of metal at her thigh, clicking once against the wall as she turns to them.

"Rogue listen to me-"

"You killed her!"

"No."

"Then where the _fuck_ is she?"

She breaks away from Remy, comes towards Mystique, her hands balled into raised fists.

Raven doesn't say a word and she uncurls them, holds up her palms.

"Ah got two ways t'take it from ya," she bluffs. "That man ya had me absorb? Alexander Charles? He was a telepath."

Raven blinks.

"...A _strong_ one. Stronger than Jean Grey. Much. Ah won't hafta try very hard ta-"

Raven smiles.

"'Course... there's... the other way too..."

She's smiling.

"When we bring Mr. Charles in you will absorb him fully."

_What?_

"What?"

"Rogue, don't you see?" Raven begins excitedly, "Once you have his power you will be able to help us without hurting yourself – you will have _complete_ control –"

" _Listen_ ta me! Ah'm not doin' this no more! Ah'm _done_! Ya killed Deborah! Ya-"

"I did not kill Deborah."

"Ya think Ah'm gonna believe ya just let her go?!"

"Rogue, she was never here."

"What're ya _talkin'_ about, Ah _saw_ her-"

Raven closes her eyes.

Her skin shimmers, her hair twists into long dark curls and when she looks at her again her eyes are no longer gray, but brown. Wide, brown Bambi eyes.

_Oh mah God... oh mah..._

_Ah shoulda known... Ah shoulda..._

She's hyperventilating.

"... How long..."

"Since the beginning. Deborah is probably still rotting in that orphanage. I approached you in the library. I talked you into going to New York. I found you at that club, LeBeau. I chose you on purpose. I knew who you would be to her, to _them_. I knew you would be the link we needed -"

"That's enough."

"Rogue-"

"Ah said _enough_. It's ovah, Mystique."

"It's not over. You can't leave here, Rogue. Terrible things will happen if you do. Destiny-"

"Ah don't care! Ah don't care 'bout th' _visions_!"

"You don't understand, Rogue – if you walk away I promise you it will be much worse than the life you imagine here."

_That ain't possible..._

A whistle of power.

Gambit holds up a glowing card.

"We done here, Mystique."

Raven laughs shortly, lifts the gun. Her jaw is painfully tight, her eyes sad, but her hand does not waver.

"I love you, Rogue. In every world, every reality, you are my child. I am trying to protect you."

She shifts her aim away from Remy, away from the glowing King of Hearts.

Rogue stares down the barrel of the gun.

"Stay with me. Don't make me do this."

Out of the corner of her eye she sees Remy start to move and she holds out a hand, her fingertips resting briefly against his pounding heart.

"Rogue?" he asks.

"Shhh..."

The card burns itself into ash, charred hearts falling to the white white floor.

She looks away from it, away from him. She forces herself to move.

She stares into Deborah's eyes and comes closer, closer until the cold nose of the gun kisses her heart.

"Raven?"

Deborah's face disappears and Raven looks back at her, beautiful smooth Raven, a mess now with tears slipping quietly down her face. Her mouth is a hard determined line, but her storm-cloud eyes say, _please_.

"Yes, Rogue?"

"Go to hell."

She doesn't hear the gun fire. It's muffled by someone's scream, by an explosion of power that lifts her off her feet and sends her hurtling through the air. She feels the heat on her face, the burning pain of the bullet that has ripped into her flesh, the impact of hitting the floor. And then she can't move at all. All she can do is stare up at the ceiling... the white white ceiling flickering with shadows pink and gray and black ... orange and red... waving and waving like flames... like gauze... Remy's face through the haze coming closer and closer... She thinks of his kiss... that first kiss at Fahrenheit through the gauze... warm and soft and making her heart race...

Her heart hurts.

And then no more.

She can't feel anything.

Her head is swimming, her vision blurring. She hears Remy say "Oh God... Oh God... No... Please God..."

He leans over her, presses his hands hard over her breast, trying to stop the blood.

"Don' you dare die on me! Not now! Not fucking now!"

He's getting farther and farther away... his voice sounds so small... She watches him try to save her, his hair falling into his eyes... those eyes... Tears on his cheeks leaving trails through the soot...

He whispers, _No_...

And she closes her eyes.


	20. Rogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Soundtrack:  
> [Blue Moon Revisited (A Song for Elvis) - Cowboy Junkies](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9D2yvD9Frk)  
> [Set the Fire to the Third Bar - Snow Patrol feat. Martha Wainwright](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UL5SOhm5T7g)  
> [Everloving - Moby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMNB8BqAJdY)_

A song floats up from below the balcony and through the open French doors, carried on the breeze like a scent. It's soft, so soft but it wakes her and she lies in her bed for a long moment listening with her eyes closed.

Margo Timmins sings like a whisper, mournful, delicate, _"I only want to say, that if there is a way, I want my baby back with me 'cause he's my true love, my only one don't you see..."_ and she curls into herself, the tangled sheets, presses her hands against her eyes.

She has been waiting.

She has been waiting too long and his absence is a physical pain in her body, making it hard to move, hard to breathe.

She hears life going on outside, people enjoying their evening, laughing like music like the clink of glasses, the hisses of grills, the honking of horns, the clip-clop of horse hooves on the cobblestones.

She lies in her empty bed knowing he has lain here. Knowing he has stood on that balcony and watched New Orleans breathe. He probably called down to her, added his voice to the cacophony, his laugh another melody to become entwined with the moonlight and the breeze and _"Blue moon you saw me standing alone..."_

_Remy where are ya..._

_"Without a dream in my heart... without a love of my own..."_

She chose New Orleans on purpose. She thought maybe it would help make the wait easier. She thought she'd be comforted by this place he loves so much b ut it's agony.

Being surrounded by him and having him nowhere near...

She crawls out of bed, pulls on her robe. She pads barefoot to the French doors and stands on the balcony curling her hands over the wrought iron railing. She looks up at the full moon and blinks against the blinding whiteness, the streetlamps below her feet no more substantial than lightning bugs now.

He would come here when he couldn't go home, when he needed to be away from The Guild, away from Jean Luc and Julian. It was his sanctuary. He spent his last night in New Orleans here. Stood right here as he thought about all he had lost. All he was about to leave behind...

He had loved it, this room, even in his sadness.

It seemed like the natural place for her to go... for her to wait.

She thought he'd be here by now.

It's been weeks since she arrived, weeks since that night...

Weeks since she died...

_She opens her eyes with a gasp, a swimmer coming up for air, struggling, struggling to reach the surface. She claws at the darkness and a light flicks on like magic, erasing the blackness and filling the room with a warm glow._

_A voice says, "Shhh... shhh it's alright... you're okay, Rogue... you're okay..."_

_Dominic sits beside her, saving her from the nightmares as he has done so many nights before and she relaxes, her tense body releasing, sinking back into the bed. She stares up at the ceiling trying to get her breathing back to normal, trying to calm dow-_

_Where's the canopy?_

_She has a canopy over her bed. A green one. There's no canopy..._

_And her sheets are green too... not plaid..._

_This isn't her bed._

_She sits up and a wave of dizziness washes over her, makes the room that isn't hers spin and spin and_

_Dominick's hand reaches out and stops it. She looks at his fingers on her arm. She's wearing a nightshirt that isn't hers._

_"What... where am ah?"_

_"Lucien's."_

_"Who..."_

_"He's a friend. He's... he's a healer, Rogue."_

_Dominick has something in his lap... something white... white silk stained with mud... stained with blood... It lies there twisted, crumpled by his hands._

_And it all comes rushing back._

_She falls down the rabbit hole and lands in a white white room stained with smoke, stained with blood... her blood..._

_She frantically pulls at the buttons on the nightshirt, pulls the material away to see..._

_Nothing._

_Not even a scar between her heart and shoulder where the bullet..._

_"Lucien healed you... I brought you here to him..."_

_"She shot me... " she murmurs, remembering, remembering the look in Raven's eyes the second before she did it. The flash of regret, the cold acceptance. "Mystique shot me... why would she want me healed?"_

_"She doesn't know you're here. Lucien's a friend of mine. She doesn't know anything about this."_

_"Where is she?"_

_"I-"_

_"And Remy- What happened to Remy? Is he here? He was there, he was with me..."_

_He was crying._

_"He thought you were dead. I ran into him on his way out of Mystique's office. He was going after her. He was... crazy... He knocked me off my feet and I don't think he even noticed me. I found you bleeding... and the fire... I took you here. It was the only thing I could think of..."_

_"Ah don't remember..."_

_"You were out, Rogue. You were barely breathing."_

_"Holy shit..." she whispers, slumping against the headboard. "Ah died... Ah..."_

_"What happened? I left the Ball... We were done so I came back and all hell-"_

**_The party... Charles Xavier..._ **

_"Did you bring him in? That guy Mystique wanted?"_

_"No, we couldn't... The strangest thing... you touched him and nothing happened – he didn't pass out – **you** did. Gambit came out of nowhere, caught you before you hit the ground. He took you outside and when I turned back to Mr Charles he was gone. Pyro and I scouted around for him for a while but he just disappeared."_

_"Where's St. John now?"_

_"I don't know – we didn't come back in the same car... Rogue, how did this happen?_ **_What_ ** _happened?"_

_"We tried ta rescue her... Remy and Ah... but she wasn't there... Deborah... it was Mystique all along... All along..."_

_"What?"_

_"It was Mystique from the very beginnin'."_

_"Wait, she... No... No, every time I visited Deborah, brought her-"_

_"Ya think Ah'm lyin?"_

_He stares at her, shakes his head._

_"I swear I had no idea."_

_"Yeah, well... Ya still wanna be a Brother Dom?"_

_He looks away from her, looks at his hands still clutching the dress. He sets it aside._

_"Rogue... I..." He sighs. "It's who I am."_

_"It's_ **_not_ ** _wh... Never mind."_

_She kicks off the covers, swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands with more strength and energy than she should have. Her bones remember the helplessness, the weakness that had set into them just before... They remember it too well and she rests a hand against the wall as her knees begin to shake._

_"Ya saved mah life."_

_"Rogue-"_

_"Thank ya f'that." She pushes past him, makes her way to the door, fighting the tremors._

_"Where are you going?"_

_"Ta find him."_

_"Rogue, he's probably long gone by now. It's been hours."_

_"Ah hafta find him-"_

_"You know if she wants you dead you'll be dead right?"_

_He follows her to the door, getting in front of her, making her listen._

_"She_ **_will_ ** _kill you, Rogue. And she'll kill him to get to you. I don't know what happened... why this –" he gestures at the bloody gown lying on the bed, "happened, but if she finds out you're alive... She doesn't leave things unfinished. You_ **_know_ ** _that."_

_"Ya tellin' me ta run."_

_"I don't want you to die."_

_"Ah don't want to be without him. Not now."_

_"I'll tell him where you are."_

_"Bullshit."_

_"Once you're safe, I'll find a way to tell him."_

_"You said ta me once not ta depend on ya. That all ya can do is let me down-"_

_"Rogue, Mystique would kill me if she knew I helped you. I'm risking my life-"_

_"Why if-"_

_"When I saw you... even before I saw you. When I saw_ **_him_ ** _I knew something bad had..." His throat closes up at the memory, and he takes a deep breath, he tries again. "When I was down in the cell and saw you lying there... I thought you were gone. You_ **_were_ ** _... But then... Rogue, you opened your eyes. Just for a moment. You opened your eyes and you said... You said his name." He swallows painfully, places his hand on her shoulder. "I will tell him. I swear to you..."_

She's been at the Place d'Armes, for exactly two weeks tonight.

Happy anniversary.

She hadn't believed Dominick when he had said he would tell Remy she was alive and waiting for him. She'd been betrayed too many times by him, by The Brotherhood, by everyone, to risk trusting anyone now.

He was right that she had to get out of New York though. Mystique would come after her if she knew she was still alive.

She's not worried about Irene finding out and telling her. If she showed up again in her visions, she would just assume it was a faulty future and ignore it. And Dominick wouldn't say a word. She believed him when he told her that. After all his neck is on the line too...

She would be safe as long as she stayed out of their way.

So she left. She took the money Dominick scrounged up for her, used Gambit's know-how to steal a car and drove all night, all day, nonstop until she was far away from everything...

She knew she had to do it, had to go... She didn't really have a choice.

But she had to see him first.

_"Ah'm goin' t'the X-Men. He'll be there..."_

_"Rogue, you can't stay with them. She'll find you."_

_"Ah know that... Ah know... But Ah hafta tell him mahself, where Ah'm goin'. Ah hafta_ **_see_ ** _him. He thinks Ah'm_ **_dead_ ** _..."_

_"Maybe it's better that way."_

_She doesn't say anything for a long moment. He goes to the dresser, picks up a pair of pants and a button-down shirt._

_"These're Lucien's," he says. "They're gonna be too big, but... better than a nightshirt right?"_

_"Lucien... he didn't touch me did he? Ah mean when he..."_

_"No. Luckily, he doesn't need contact to do his thing..."_

**** _She takes the clothes from him, careful not to touch, unsure why she needs it to be a secret that she can now. "So he's okay t'drive? Ah mean if Ah ask him d'ya think he would?"_

_"I'll drive you."_

_"Ya can't go where Ah'm goin'. They'd attack ya on sight..."_

_"Rogue-"_

_"Ah love him, Dom."_

_He stands there silent. She sees the pain in his eyes._

_She looks away from it._

_"Get dressed," he says thickly. "I'll drive you. I'll take you anywhere you want to go."_

She steps back inside, closes the French doors and slips out of her robe, her slip. She pulls on her clothes, knowing she's not going to be able to get back to sleep tonight. Her dreams haven't been so good lately anyway.

///

She goes to the Moon Walk, stares out at the Mississippi River. Her river. His river. The waves they both swum in as children tumble over each other in the moonlight, blue and black gently lapping against the edges of the city... his city...

Dominick took her to the X-mansion. He waited beyond the gates as she slipped past them, her feet sinking into the lawn, damp with dew, soaking the thin canvas shoes Lucien gave her...

_They're too big and she trips, falls to her knees and something drops from the trees, something big and hulking and... growling._

**_Snikt_ **

_"What're you doin' here."_

_Metal catching the moonlight, glowing in the early morning dark. Claws extended, inches from her throat._

_She told him everything. She knelt before him and talked until his claws retracted, until he got down on one knee and told her what she already knew._

_She should go, she should walk away._

_He wasn't going to let her get any closer than this._

_"Promise me ya'll tell him... Please Lo- Wolverine... Please... just tell him where Ah'll be an ya'll never see me again... Ah promise."_

_He looks at her for a long moment, searches her face, still not trusting..._

_"An address... that's all Ah'm askin' ya ta give him... that's all..."_

He said he would do it, he would tell him. He said he'd leave it up to the Cajun to decide where his loyalties lie. He didn't seem to think they would be with her.

But he hadn't seen his face.

He hadn't seen his face when he leaned over her in that room, knowing she was leaving him for good... knowing she was dying...

The thought crosses her mind that Logan didn't tell him after all.

It crosses her mind because she doesn't want to think of the alternative.

That he just isn't coming.

She says goodbye to the river and wanders through the empty market on her way back to her room. She thinks about going to the Cathedral but decides against it. It's another one of Remy's comfort zones, but she doesn't believe in God, not anymore. It would be wrong to try and take solace in Him just because she wants to feel close to-

She passes by the Café DuMonde and his wistfulness nearly knocks her off her feet.

_He waited here, he waited so long and she never came..._

She never came.

///

She watches another sunrise from his bed.

She rests her chin on her knees, looks at the light creeping across the floor, climbing up the bed, warming the sheets.

She closes her eyes, breathes deep.

Sixteen days.

It's getting too hard being here. Like Mississippi got to be too hard, everything reminding her of her past...

Everything here reminds her of him, which at first was the point, but now... All these feelings, these memories she thought had disappeared... They tell her his stories, but she wants to hear them from _him_ as they walk down St. Anne's, Decatur, Bourbon Street... She wants _him_ to tell her about himself as they explore alleyways and parks, jazz clubs and bars...

She wants to dance with him at Coop's Place where he got drunk on this eighteenth birthday and sang along to Otis Redding crooning over the jukebox _"These arms of mine...they are lonely... lonely and feeling blue... These arms of mine... they are yearning... yearning from wanting you..."_

She buries her face in her hands.

_It's time ta leave. Ah can't just stay here day after day waitin' for somethin' that might neva happen..._

She has nothing to take with her. Nothing to pack. All she has to do is get up. All she has to do is

_End it..._

End it, Anna.

_He's not com-_

There's a knock on her door.

She freezes, her hands over her mouth.

She waits, holds her breath.

It comes again.

She slowly gets to her feet, her heart pounding, pounding, afraid to hope... but she does anyway.

She draws back the chain, pushes down on the handle.

She whispers his name like a good luck charm, like a prayer.

She opens the door.

///

_Dominick drops her off at a rest stop, tells her he wishes he could drive her all the way. She tells him she knows he has to get back._

_"Ah don't want ya ta git inta trouble."_

_"Don't worry about me. I'll tell them I was getting rid of the body... I've had that job before. They won't question it."_

_They stand there in silence for a moment._

**_I've had that job before..._ **

_She thinks if she asks him to come he will. She doesn't necessarily want him to come with_ **_her_** _, she just wants him to leave The Brotherhood. She thinks about him painting, all the beauty he's capable of... She thinks about him burying Mystique's enemies under buildings because it's his job to follow her orders and it makes her sad. She doesn't care what he said before. That's_ **_not_ ** _who he is..._

_He says, "I bet you could catch a bus here that'll take you wherever you're going." He says it in a way that lets her know he wants her to tell him where that is._

_She says she doesn't want to be around people right now._

_"Ah'm gonna steal a car..."_

_She heads south, leaving Manhattan, New York, days behind. The road stretches before her, miles and miles of asphalt, her future waiting for her in a place she's only been in his memories._

_She needs him to meet her there in his past, needs him to go with her somewhere new, somewhere where they can find out if they have a future together._

**_"Do you really think he'll be there?"_ ** _Dominick had asked._

_She drives towards the rising sun, the dusky light of the new morning red and warm like his eyes, the heat on her face like a touch, like the promise of a touch._

_She had answered,_ **_"Ah hope so..."_ **

_Because she needs to tell him she has never loved anyone before. Has only ever read about it, has only felt the flame of it secondhand in other people's memories. In his. She needs to tell him she knows it now. Knows it as intimately as she has known fear, anger, loneliness._

_She doesn't know if he could ever feel for her what he felt for Belle. She doesn't know if a broken heart can ever let itself be healed enough to try again, especially after everything they've done to each other. But hers beats out a steady rhythm that says it can, that says it wants to._

_She rolls down the window, the wind blowing back her hair, a banner of mahogany and white._

_She tells herself he'll come for her again. He came for her before, over and over again he looked for her in the crowded dark, even when he knew she wouldn't be there. He came for her that last night. Stood by her side. She looked into his eyes and saw the regret, the desperate wish for a second chance to get it right._

_A sign stands by the road._

_"Welcome to Louisiana"_

_Her heart surges with hope, an unfamiliar feeling that makes her smile, that makes tears come to her eyes._

_They have that chance._

_He just has to take it, and her heart, her soul... everything that she is tells her he will._

**_"I hope so too Rogue."_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Sequel to Bad Touch:_ [Cheating at Solitaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19185373/chapters/45605239%22)


End file.
